4kids Does Team Fortress 2
by PenGator3
Summary: Oh dear God, they just had to make a second one! Thanks to the reccessive economy, "You Know Who" gets ahold of "You Know What;" as a result, RED and BLU must work together to regain control of their companies but will they suceed? That I don't know...
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:** Well, I'm back from the graves of writer's block in time for the 1st anniversary of my arrival to and I'm ready to write a new story; but, this time it's going to be about Team Fortress 2.

Dominique: WHAT? Why would you take the time to write such a thing instead of your previous crap? You don't even own the game at all!

Sanzo: To tell you the truth, Domino, Team Fortress 2 is (one of) the most popular games ever; besides, I came up with this idea when I thought about 4Kids...

Dominique: Oh goddamn it! This must be that same fricking stunt you pulled with Evangelion in November last year, isn't it?

Sanzo: Maybe; however, this will be more like a story instead this time. And about the I 'don't even own the game at all' thing, I'm aware of that but this is my first story about them so don't judge me like that fatass Bendict Arnold documentarian Michael Malone from the movie "An American Carol."

Michael Malone: I'M NOT THAT FAT YOU KNOW!

Dominique and Sanzo: OH, DO SHUT UP YOU SACK OF CRAP!

Michael: FUCK YOU!

Dominique: FUCK ME? THAT'S IT! (turns to Sanzo) Yo, Sanzo, can you lend me your gun?

Sanzo: Dude, give me one good reason why I should do that?

Dominique (scratches his head as he picks out a likely answer): Well, for starters, you're based off of Genjo Sanzo from Saiyuki since he carries a handgun around in the series.

Sanzo (disgruntled): Fine... (lends Dominique the pistol as he aims for Michael Malone and fires a shot at him in the arm)

Dominique (awed): Holy crap, this is more fun than chasing King Dedede around when my colleagues had to adjust to the new food budget.

Michael (groaning in pain as he holds on to his bleed arm unaware that Dominique is closing in): YOU SHOT ME; YOU SHOT ME RIGHT IN THE ARM! HOW-

Dominique (fires four more shots into Michael Malone which kills him): Phew, glad that's over; now, to the disclaimer!

Sanzo: **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.** There; can we go now?

Dominique: Yes

* * *

It was a bright and sunny day in the city of New York; to start off delicately, the skyline was filled with tall buildings drenched in cool colors as it was made with industrial materials and orthogonal shapes. There was also a construction site for a unified tower to serve as a replacement of hope for the two towers crushed by hate and vengeance from the oversea (and within). As a leading global city, it exerted a powerful influence over global commerce, finance, media, culture, art, fashion, research, education, and entertainment. There was also a blanket of green somewhere in this dear city that was filled with lots of lively vegetation and hospital fauna called Central Park to its inhabitants. Even so, subways tracks, above and below, surrounded the city yet its people were welcome to come and go as they please. With the weather so clear and clean culture had just seems to be in the air, like part of the weather and it was; in fact, it was a nice place for people to go on vacation whenever the school year came to a close or when a jolly old guy in a red suit visited the chimneys of the neighborhoods he visited with the help of his trusty reindeer squadron. To them, happiness was around the corner for everyone of all kinds of people to see.

Despite the safely and lawfulness in town, there was one place when crimes are (still) being committed; but, its source didn't come from the alleys where homeless people lived. The source came from the Manhattan district named Sixth Avenue and among those buildings was one called 4Kids Entertainment, a licensing company known for profiting the localization of the Pacific regional programming. However, it had a dark secret for being apathetic to it complaining reviewers from across the country for the sake of promoting the language of the (self-proclaimed) greatest country in the world. Even worse, it deemed the young ones unworthy of literary reading and viewing foreign literature as being between life an death despite its good health. The offices around were so quiet like a sleeping mouse on the night of Christmas Eve, only the steps of a person can be heard as it move to the large room where the businessmen (and businesswomen alike) were in a meeting about how to bring money back to the staggering losses in consummation of entertainment.

That person was an overweight man who had blond hair on his head. He had a pair of sunglasses that protected his eyes as if they were reading glasses; additionally, he had an unpleasant look in his eyes to show that he was angry. He wore a suit and tie that were both sporting the color black but not as black as his own heart. He also had a set of bodyguards to protect him, one on each of his side. He was sitting in a chair in front of a refectory table that housed many of the people the comfort to sit down and discuss topics. If there were words to describe the situation, it spoke for itself to the point of narrative laziness (no matter how ironic it was).

"Ladies and gentlemen," the blond spoke up, "welcome to 4Kids Entertainment. I'm Alfred R. Kahn and it's 1:45 p.m. so it's time for our staff meeting. Its been nearly fifty years since the high-yellow elites took control of manufacturing cartoons as all of us hippy Americans protested the Vietnam war. We want their programs. Never forget the times we had wasted with mundane affairs! We have had a long and arduous struggle to achieve all of them for all citizens of our great nation. Isn't it not hard, people?"

"Well, Lord Kahn," answered one of the businessmen in the glasses nasally, "ever since 4Kids made its big hit in 1992, terrible things had happened over the course of history with the death threats and the hate mail and the abridged series over the internet and the fan arts and the fan fiction. Sir, maybe we should-" "SILENCE!" Kahn bellowed as he pulled a lever fiercely and within seconds the businessman's chair straighten up the moment a square hole was made, causing him to fall into it where he was wrapped around in the magma's flames and drowned in it shouting painful screams. Everyone near the seating area watched in shock and horror with the exception of the fat blond and the bodyguards as the former continued, "anyways, I saw three kids reading books and on of them is smiling. Okay, Miss Rainbow Smiley…tell me about the products you still have in development."

The businesswoman, Ms. Smiley, hesitantly stood up as she straightened out her long hair and said, "Lord Kahn, we believe that we must scrounge for other foreign programs from other parts of the world and make them more American; therefore, anyone who wants to see our version, well they would have to come to us and watch it." "What else," Kahn responded. The businesswoman then spoke, "if we're lucky by then, we could try and buy back rights to Kirby again; isn't that great?" Everyone remained silent as they also heard crickets strangely chirping in the daylight along with coyotes howling as they plan to capture an agile roadrunner. "Right," the blond fat man said ambivalently, "we could do that." Some of the people amongst them even whispered, "I bet everyone in America likes Kirby; there were even two brothers that had made a flash series off of it too. We should get some of that money!" "Heck, yeah!" shouted someone else as well.

Kahn then shouted, "personal, how are things going so far?" "Well, as you requested," a tall and rugged businessman said, "we are still in the process of getting the rights to Neon Genesis Evangelion thanks to that 'Shonen Sanzo' boy from ." "And you fired the guys who messed up on the voice over for Yubel in the Yu-Gi-Oh! GX episode where she duels Jaden Yuki the moment she swore?" the fat man asked. The tall man answered, "yes, my lord; we did." "I LOVE IT!" shouted Khan. "And the public relations, I assume?"

"Lord Kahn," another businesswoman in red spoke up, "although relations have been known as typical threats, our sources from the Millennium World division have picked up a strong sense of high risk, high reward, high intuition from another universe/dimension. Apparently, rumor has it that it's coming from a eight inch penguin-like Waddle Dee creature named Dominique Amino who has recently seen writing some fanfic about two twin bunny rabbit siblings losing a battle. We believe that this person is talking about Disney's 'Yin Yang Yo' show that got canceled over a year ago and knows about us as we speak now as of this moment." "Oh my," the fat man spoke sardonically, "what did we ever do to him except tick him off like that? What did we do?" The businesswoman in red said, "right now, he's on the computer as we speak writing a fanfic for a video game called Team Fortress 2; I think we should-"

"Get the rights to it?" Kahn shouted jovially, "why that's a brilliant idea!" The red businesswoman then spoke, "forgive me, my lord, but that's not 4Kids material; it's a M-rated video game that involves guns. It's not worth it to make it into a show." "I don't care if it's about death, hell, or even a hentai," the fat man spoke, "This video game is known throughout the entire world (except Antarctica and Japan). I won't let it escape such a big chance to increase our ratings and while we keep censoring and making edits with our "expensive" programs everything will be fine; besides, that penguin boy has given us a(nother) great idea. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

"We just want to know how are we able to do that," the lady said. Kahn responded, "We'll just change the format and make it less violent than the German format to the point it's longer even violent anymore, like we did with One Piece, Sonic X, and Tokyo Mew Mew." "I still think it's a bad idea, milord," she countered, "we could eventually lose the right to it like we did with One Piece and Tokyo Mew Mew for screwing it up so much so…" "I said everything will be fine, goddamn it!" shouted the blond man, " don't remind me of those shows." The red businesswoman paused for a short moment and spoke up again, "sir, I think you should reconsider it." "SILENCE!" bellowed Kahn, "do you want to join you friend, Sheldon in the flames of doom?" "No, milord," she answered fearfully. Her boss then said, "Then, please calm down…"

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere out there in the western seaboard lay an environment filled with wooden buildings drenched in warm colors with its natural materials and angular shapes. There were also some mine cart tracks laying about above the barren soil as well signifying that it belonged to a western town. There were crickets chirping about, wind blowing through the low pass areas and some minor wood creaking; however, the tranquility was shattered by the sounds of malevolent gunfire in the around.

The gunfire originated from the people running amok leaving behind a trail of blood in the process; was it a war battle going on? Yes, it was a battle but not a war battle going on; apparently, it was between two groups: those dressed in red and the others dressed in blue. Two factions, both alike in dignity have shared a dark secret stemmed from an ancient mutinous grudge staining civil hands with such a cherry ooze. Each of those rebellious armed forces had the need to quench the fire of their pernicious anger with veins spewing purple at the texture of their own mistemper'd weapons. One of them belonged to a giant firearm work of art called a minigun that had weighed up to one hundred and fifty kilograms of sheer destructive power. It was capable of showing a greater rate of fire than any weapon on the planet, especially at close range where it could reduce anyone and anything to shreds in seconds; but, only a few were chosen to operate it and it already had one.

The operator in question was a giant man who was tall and fat like a (shaven) bear who sported a sneering pair of blue eyes. The only the sign of hair was located on the bottom of his face where it stretched from ear to ear like the grin on his very face which means his is otherwise bald. He wore a red t-shirt above his white undershirt to hide the man's physical dark side; furthermore, the man wore a black bulletproof vest that housed ammunition belts on his chest. A pair of grayish-brown slacks was wore on the man's strangely small legs in proportion to his arms that has given him a much slower pace compared to a small snail. The black shoes on his feet pounded the barren soil in a shaking and firm manner.

Another man was also accompanying him and he was a lot (more or less) thinner than him. Unlike the fat one, he had jet black hair but little sign of facial hair at all. The thin man also had blue eyes yet they were protected by tea shaded eyewear; however, he had also shared a malevolent stare the other man had before him. A white lab coat was draped over the thin man's torso along with a red tie and undershirt from beneath only buttoning the upper body as it revealed his dark brown khakis. His hands were wrapped in a rubbery cherry grip. The thin man also wore the same kind of footwear his fatter companion had on his very own two feet. A strange black strapped backpack was made out of two red cylinder tanks that sandwiched the med kit in between as it combined itself with the utility belt with contents only used by that very man with the glasses; to make things (even) stranger, it was holding a weapon that had the nozzle of a fire hose utilized to put out the blazes of turmoil only to shoot out an friendly aura at his comrade.

The fat man carried the massive gun out into the blistering sunlight with only the thin doctor following close behind. He revved up his weapon as the reedy friend latched the strange healing gun onto him. The bald man looked ahead at the battlefield he would soon tear apart with bullets. The mine track turned to the left and into a tunnel built into the rocky hills as had been informed that his allies were already on the other side the tunnel, and it was no longer the most direct route to them. Straight ahead was a slight incline, which ended with a small cliff edge that brought anybody going over it back to the track again along with a nook built into the side of the 10 foot high cliff, and that was the location of those fellow teammates of his currently being pinned down by the boys.

With his thin comrade in tow, he charged forward and fired the minigun. The nearest red shirt, a man in a panama hat with a sniper rifle, was shot in the head and fell down the roof of a cabin he once stood on and down near a sentry being repaired by it builder in a hard hat. The fat man turned his weapon on the four blue men from below the cliff including one in a steel helmet that carried a rocket launcher, another fat man like him (only in blue), another sniper who was blown to pieces, and another man in a hard hat as they all fell down into ravine. The red fat men continued onwards, opening up on a person in a blue asbestos-lined suit with a blazing makeshift flamethrower. The flamethrower-wielding being fell just as easily as the three other men before him in the ravine and the others in blue that would come after him.

Only one man in blue caught the attention of the two men and it was a young adolescent boy who was just as thin as the man in glasses. A grayish-black baseball cap and a headset altogether rested on his flat head. A pair of dog tags were wrapped around his neck; true to his uniform style, he donned a blue T-shirt which was accompanying a sling bag from behind him. He also had a belt on himself to keep his pants up while he wore black sneakers on his feet. If that wasn't merely dangerous enough, the boy was wielding a metallic baseball bat in his swinging grip; to make matters even worse for the two, the adolescent was standing on a control point that glowed a red light.

The grown men knew that it was their job to keep this control point out of the grips of these people in blue within less of a few minutes knowing full well that by doing so their enemies would be one step closer to defeating them; besides, the teenager's special ability gave them a warning to prevent it before the deadline extended. "Vell, Vell, Vell, Vhat do ve have here," the thin man in glasses finally spoke up with a clear German voice, "Little boy BLU Bruderchen. Vhatever shall we do?" "Ooh, Ooh, I know!" the fat one gleefully shouted, "Charge me!" "Vith pleasure," the thin man listened as the beam of his weapon focused on his fatter comrade and started glowing a red glare; soon, both men gave off an ominous crimson glow with the bald guy speaking, "is good time to run, baby!" The fat man in red then spun his minigun around at the blue teenager who switched out his steel bat and exchanged it for a sawed off shotgun as he started strafing around to avoid these two hundred dollar custom-tooled cartridge stored super caliber bullets. The teen returned fire from his scattergun fiercely at the fat man yet not even a single pellet has brought the red one any harm at all whatsoever; in a even strange and sardonic twist of fate, the boy tripped on a rock and fell down the ravine with the people the fat one had slain whom unlike them survived despite breaking his arm.

"Can you feel ze Schadenfreude?" the thin man in glasses sarcastically spoke sadistically as he saw the misfortune of the little boy in blue in pain. The fat man jumped down feet first and switched out his minigun with a gray shotgun where he started spinning it around his large finger then ending it with sliding the barrel across his neck as if he was attempting to slit his own throat with a knife in order to kill himself despite the fact that he was merely threatening the boy with death as he said to him grimly, "You, yes you; you are dead!" "H-h-hey, let's just calm down here! You listening? J-j-just..." the now disarmed boy pleaded as the big man put up his shotgun away and started to pick up the boy and prepared to throw him aside, "OH GOD; OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GO-" But it was too late for that he was thrown aside by the man in red towards the rocky cliffside wall; as a result, a thud was formed and the boy in blue had his torso bent like a steel pipe with blood dripping from the resulting cut as well as from the mouth as he gurgled and spat it out saying, "my blood; h-he took out all my blood! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!" The fat one took his shotgun back out again and cocked it as started to edge towards the bleeding boy preparing to take a shot at close quartered range towards the frightened teen as he begged, "I regret everything! I regret everything I've ever done!" Unfortunately for him, the gray shotgun was planted in his mouth by the beastly tormentor where he then pulled the trigger leading to the boy's head exploding, blood splattering over the base of the rocky cliff and on the man's vest and ammo belt leaving nothing but a grisly ruby fountain spurted out of the cadaver's neck stump.

Soon the job was nearly done as a mysterious, disembodied voice blurted out, "mission ends in ten seconds!" The fat man, satisfied, retreated and went towards a nearby ladder where he started climbing upward to the top of the small cliff; at first, it started out easy for him considering his size and stature gave him a guaranteed advantage to do so but he struggled a bit near the end and gloved hand had been reached out from the man in glasses to help his comrade up from that very ravine he jumped down from. The fat one tugged on it and had reached the top of the cliff back again; afterwards, a bell ranged along with a sounded message, "Victory..."

* * *

Some cheers were heard and so were the whistling as it signified that the battle was won; unfortunately, there was one place where celebration was rendered unimportant. Inside the room contained many things: a large set of screens with pictures of the environment outside, a rotating black chair, weird communications material, and a set of tall metal drawers. There only were two people, or better yet, two women in the room: one of them was skinny and elderly but active who ironically was smoking a cigarette and the other was more or less the same as the first female (except that the second one was younger, shorter, had glasses on her face, and didn't smoke at all). Based on the feelings in their minds, something was not going well at all.

"Um, pardon me, ma'am," the younger female squeaked as she sparked up a conversation with her older counterpart. Her superior then responded, "I'm assuming we have a new problem to deal with, Miss Pauling." "Well," the young one named Miss Pauling spoke, "I got off the phone a few hours earlier; it seems that somehow despite the success of certain operations, such as the War between Jane Doe and Tavish DeGroot (better yet known as BLU Soldier and RED Demoman respectively), we are nearing the borderlines of bankruptcy, Administrator." "But how is this possible?" the elder roared angrily as her voice nearly knocked the young one off her feet. Miss Pauling got back up again and started explaining to her superior, "Ever since we made so many patches and inventions to benefit the battlefields, we ended up with little money to go on, not to mention the Heavy Weapons Guy's minigun that brought us down by roughly seven hundred thousand dollars by each minute uses it, and those who idled." "I can't believe this!" the Administrator shouted, "my dear beloved (grand)mother -God rest her soul- scrounged they way to the top to gain control of this company courtesy of Zepheniah's brain defective, nitwit twin sons Blutarch and Redmond who fought against each other for everything they had split evenly between themselves to their last damn breath. Even so, mommy left it to me before she passed away and told me to keep the fight going on for generations to come and passed down to my other descendants as well; but, now it has come down to this: BANKRUPTCY!"

The Administrator slowly started to burst into tears as her assistant Miss Pauling scavenged the area quickly to find her superior some tissues to dry her watery eyes; as a result, the tall lady pulled one of them out and started to flush out her nostrils while her underling attempted to comfort her by saying, "However, there are some good news…" "What, we saved a bunch of car insurance by switching to Gecko?" the Administrator asked; however, Miss Pauling answered, "I got off the phone with Mr. Alfred Khan and he has requested us let him to buy the property from us so he can bail us all out and-" "What company is Mr. Khan from?" the relented Administrator asked. Her superior answered, "he's from 4Kids Entertainment…he expects us to give him an answer within one week." "What?" was one word that the Administrator shouted from her very mouth as it signified her resuming anger which she continued on, "Do you know what their fuddy-duddy company will do to our company with these child-friendly methods of theirs?" Miss Pauling then whispered with melancholy and apprehension, "I know: but, Mr. Khan did say they can do this on a trial basis for only three months to see how it goes. Do you think that we should go through this anyway, ma'am?" "We'll see how things turn out within a week, Miss Pauling; but, just for now until next week, we must wait," the Administrator spoke as she now regained her senses calmly, "you may go now, Miss Pauling." "Yes ma'am, as you wish," the young woman spoke as she left the room just as her superior ordered her to.

When Miss Pauling had finally left the room, the Administrator started thinking to herself about how she wishes to handle the impending bankruptcy and could possibly follow on afterwards. "So," the aged mastermind started, "the American economy has decided to fester and wither away like a deferred dream from the very early twentieth century. 4Kids must have been planning on this the whole time and it makes me sick; glad I was able to sleep with all those handsome men I have been with as a middle-aged woman even though I was already unable to bear children as a consequential result. I should host a meeting or two this evening with those bumbling buffoons they called themselves BLU first, then these raving rabble-rousers from RED afterwards. Once that the meetings are over, I will have Miss Pauling type up a statement for the teams as we concoct next week's mission to New York first thing tomorrow morning. There, one of (or should I say, both of the parties) the two parties will meet up with this Alfred Khan and talk to him as he discusses the new changes among themselves. Until then, it is time for lunch…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well that was short; but, don't worry because this is just the beginning (of the end). After all, this is my first Team Fortress 2 story so reviews (of any kind) are welcome; until then, I going to finish up on my other stories so goodbye!


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note:** What up, people? This is us, PenGator3 here with Chapter Two... and no, we are not spliced together; it's just a new screename we have came up with together since our egos were starting to become one with each other.

Dominique: WE? Don't you mean you? I mean you're also the one whom decided to change the avatar (no offense to any of the fans of Nickelodeon's Avatar: The last Airbender, James Cameron's "Avatar," and/or M. Night Shyamalan's "The Last Airbender" so far whatsoever)...

Fans: None taken...!

Sanzo: True, my little Domino, true indeed; besides, I had to find some way to make sure we had the same footing and screen time.

Dominique: Oh, there you go again! And I bet that your even suggested to leave a review which was nothing but a short request.

Sanzo: Well maybe I was the person who suggested it but then again I was, more or less, somewhat annoyed; as a result, due to the fact that I do have two other fanfics that already that need updating I will tell you now not to expect an update for a while, nor do I want you to push me for updates. I don't mind a 'hope you update soon', but please no 'update already, your taking forever and I want to find out what happens next dammit' or any other kind of crap whatsoever because it's not cool, my friend.

Dominique: I know cause you said like nearly a hundred times!

Sanzo: Actually, it was my first time to say that.

Dominique: Oh, in that case it's now on to the story, right?

Sanzo: First the disclaimer...

Dominique: **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.** There; can we go now, please?

Sanzo: Yes

* * *

The weather was still nice outside seeing that the golden sun was still shining. The wooden buildings still stood up tall and proud while mine cart tracks laid, bowing before them like the subjects of majestic royalty. Though the basin was more like a desert a few reptile or two passed by signifying how nearly uninhabitable it was, let alone the fact that people wouldn't be any desperate to live in such a balmy environment. Somehow, the temperature was more or less cooler now, giving the thought of how unseasonable it would felt if one stepped in the desert for a while.

Speaking of the word cooler, the Administrator sat inside her room paying attention towards only the two active screen monitors side by side. Those dressed in red and the others clad in blue, these same two factions still both alike in dignity were in a group together were there comrades in a cafeteria; respectively, one faction was displayed on the left monitor while the other on the right. It was actually lunchtime filling the air that made the atmosphere feel peaceful in contrast to the battle from a moment ago, foodstuff and beverages sitting on the unbalanced yet sanitary tables near their owners. While there were a few people having a stick of tobacco lit up in their mouths, the air was otherwise cloudless and immaculate.

But the main focus of those in the left were a group of four people, including the large man eating a sandwich and the thin colleague examining Fava beans more thoroughly than consuming them, residing in a far off table with their own plate(s) of food. The third person was a tall rugged man in sunglasses who wore a slouch hat, a vest over his T-shirt, and slacks, drinking decaffeinated coffee silently. The last one was a black man with an eye patch over his left eye wearing body armor over the unitard and the boots on his feet who had a plate of haggis in front next to a brown bottle which he picked up and drank out of.

The atmosphere of slight joy and novelty filled the air. "Sandwich," was only one word that the fat man spoke before devouring the edible stacked deck; on a similar note, the man in sunglasses remained silent. The black man stared at the fava beans in front of the fat man's colleague bewilderedly and asked, "Aye, why are ya not eatin' those ponarachs o' yers, Medic?" "Simple kamerad," responded Medic (whom he was called around these parts of the workforce), "ze fava beans control hypertension yet causes constipation und ikterus?" "Sounds horrorshow; what's ikterus?" the corpulent one asked curiously. The medic grunted lowly and said, "it's called jaundice, schveinhund and I have been planning to use ze beans for my syringe gun und medigun." "Hmm…" the man in sunglasses spoke quietly, "very interesting, mate."

The right side's monitor had another group of four people, including the adolescent sipping an energy drink while covered in bandages and stitches as he remained in the wheelchair. The second person was wearing a steel helmet over his eyes, a field jacket, and boots dressed like a soldier who had a cigarette in his mouth. The next person was a short man in his hard hat, goggles, and overalls drinking a bottle of alcohol. The last one had a ski mask over his face that matched his suit and tie standing by the wall next to person in a fire-retardant suit wearing a different mask over the person's face, both who either finished lunch early or the emotion of defeat had prevented them.

This atmosphere was filled with bitterness and stratagem since their were a few in bandages. "This sucks on ice," the adolescent mumbled through his bandages before he resumed drinking his canned beverage. The soldier shouted, "You know, Private Twinkletoes, if you weren't in that wheelchair of yours, I would've made you drop down and give me twenty." "What is you major malfunction brudda?" the boy in his wheelchair barked back at the Soldier before continuing, "that fat, bald bastard had his gay ass butt buddy Medic by his freaking side!" "Well, even though they are faggots, that's still no excuse!" the soldier countered. The boy subsequently said, "Then what about ya friend, dat cycloptic Uncle Tom of yours from." "Don't forget about your mother," the man responded, "who had an affair with French fry Red!"

Soon, the moment their argument heated up the man in the suit felt it should be time to end it already. "Gentlemen, please!" were the very first two words he'd spoke toward the them, invoking a moment of silence among them awkwardly and abruptly; afterwards, he continued on, "I know zings have been going rough since our tour in Zunder Mountain, but the last zing we should be doing is fighting amongst each other. And for ze record, I still haven't forgave you, dumb soldier, for shooting my head off some time ago." "Define the word 'last' you cheap suit wearing yuppie," the short man in a hard hat spoke up in response. The masked man said, "excuse me…" "I mean look at it!" the short man shouted, "whenever I think of that word, it has to do with next time; I mean, how many next times are they going to be for us? Sooner or later, we would be all out of a job or killed forever!"

"Just take it easy, pardner," the masked suit man spoke towards the hard hat man. The now wheelchair bounded adolescent roared, "take it easy…TAKE IT EASY? DO YOU CALL TAKIN' A SHOGUN BLAST IN THE MOUTH EASY! Our Medic told me putting my head and face back altogether was like assembling' a jigsaw puzzle. He also said that the several hours of constant Medigun treatment he had to give me increased my risk of cancer later in life by 300%!" "So in zat case already amigo, revenge is now ze first zing circling around your very mind only and nothing else," the Frenchman spoke. Everyone else then shouted, "OF COURSE IT IS!" "Very typical," he thought to himself as the moment he started thinking it started to tune out the argument among his comrades, "However, if zere is only but one zing around here, I'm somehow getting ze feeling zat something is about to change around our very workplace in some form of way whatsoever."

Sure enough, the Administrator whom resided in her own control room, along with Miss Pauling by her side began to draft in a form of correspondence that would be read by both blocs, not only starting to confirm the blue Frenchman's suspicions but also spell the end of the two. The young woman straightened her bifocals as she looked at her superior in trepidation with a typewriter in her grasp, giving out twinkling eyes of stillness before speaking, "I can't believe you still want to go through with this." "Aren't we all…," the Administrator responded as she threw away the cigarette into the ashtray before reaching over her copy of a magazine and plucking another cigarette to relieve her infinite stress, "You can now start writing, Miss Pauling." Miss Pauling started to obey her boss as her superior clench her fingers, hearing small but distinct cracks resonate from her degrading marrow; despite this, her fingers were now on the keyboard for each alphabet was ready to be implemented on a sheet of paper in a twelve inch Miriam Fixed font.

_"To Whom It May Concern, thank you all for your years of services as corporate mercenaries; now, I'd like to give you all a very well-deserved congratulations. Through your immeasurable contribution to the cause, each of every one of you have defeated your bitter opponents, and will immediately begin to take full advantage of all opportunities which arise from it. This wasn't and couldn't be possible without you all."_

_When you all joined together, there were some doubts. Who could have thought that nine men, all from different fields of expertise and very different walks of life, could work together as you have, and accomplish so much? Each of you have proven to be the best of the best in your respective talents, and we thank you for bringing us where we could never have gotten without you._

_However, it is with a heavy heart that we, the entire staff owe you all a confession. The enemies you have fought with were none other than yourselves even up to that day. The companies of Reliable Excavation and Demolition and Builder's League United were actually the result of a family curse inflicted by Zephaniah Mann on his twin sons, Redmond and Blutarch as a sentence for their inability of teamwork. _

_Even worse, it has came to our attention that 4Kids Entertainment has engaged in a hostile takeover against us. While this is not grounds for disbandment effectively at tomorrow at twelve o'clock noon both your teams will be partaking in one last payload race to New York City where you will be meeting with your new supervisor. It has been a wild ride for all of you that signed up but like everything else all good things must come to an end._

_In light of this unfortunate circumstance, it has been seen fit to grant the winning team a sum of five million dollars."_

_Dictated, Well Thought Out and Sincerely Yours,_

_The Administrator_

The young underling was now finished as the once blank piece of paper became now riddled with the black alphabets of whitewash. "All done, Administrator; what should we do next?" she asked. Her superior then responded, "Since we planned to keep this as discreet as possible yet aware of what our associates are capable of should it go to unnoticed, send the message out to the RED and BLU medics sometime tonight. You will then inform them both to keep quiet about it 'til they reach the destination; however, it's crucial that they shouldn't be neither in the same place nor they should receive it at the same time either. You are aware of what could happen should it go out of place, understood?" "Yes ma'am," confirmed Miss Pauling, "commencing delivery at nightfall." Soon, she decided to leave the room the same way her superior ordered her to earlier only with more ambivalence.

* * *

The same aura could also be said somewhere else in the land of the free. The room was like the Administrator's only with a cool colored shading scheme of ocean blue. There only were two people in this very room: one of them was a frail and gaunt man in a suit that matched his derby hat sitting down strapped to a mysterious machine and the other was a woman whom although old was younger than him (and probably taller yet prettier than Miss Pauling) standing up on her two. Like feelings in the minds of both the Administrator and her underling, something was not going well at all either.

The man started to hiss from his very dry mouth, "One thing… one thing I had hoped for was getting my idiot brother's land by simply outlasting him for it. I had never worked a day in my life with them; they're the smooth hands of a baby. I had mounted an epic campaign of leisure against the ravages of time, waiting for nature to do to my brother what my men could not. Yet, we are at the ends of our ropes that we'd tugged and fought for and he…won't…die; now, even worse, some outsider (probably poor and Irish) has the nerve to pulled such an act that jeopardizes both of us altogether, all with just a mere keyboard? All this makes me sick to my very stomach."

The woman chuckled quietly to herself as a way of staying on good terms with the foul man before finally speaking calmly, "forgetting for a moment that it would be impossible, Mr. Mann, it was such a long shot: a trillion to one to be precise." "Truly it's agreed that such an act by such an interloper was deemed improbable; why, that person could easily…hmm," said Mr. Mann, "milady, you strike me as the sort of person who would do such things. Tell me… what kind of things could this prowler be up to as of now?" "I would say reading books, draw pictures of cartoons, and whatnot; sometimes, it could be writing," the woman answered. The old man started to cringe slightly a bit, turning his chair toward her face-to-face as scowled, "Writing? This outsider is even more worse than we had even thought and this will not do. If this interloper writes, it will be about something and if it's about something…, it would might be about us."

"Although it would seem harmless, it's seem surprising that the person might do such great damage," the woman spoke, "what should be recommended for a situation like this?" "Normally, my suggestion was send out the very same men of ours to flush out the prowler but for now we should wait," the bitter Mr. Mann responded. The woman that stood beside him then questioned, "Would it be okay that either your brother or Mr. Hale should get any conformation about this or, if possible, the person's whereabouts?" "No, my brother could use this to his advantage just to outlive me the same way I'm trying to do to him; furthermore, the shirtless man would soon get the message quick enough," he answered, "we'll have to make sure it stays within the company and nowhere else, just like Bates High School…"

As a matter of fact, the same could also be said for his so said brother, Redmond when he also heard the news. Although he was aware of what was about to go down, just like what his brother did, it was very clear to him that no one else should know about it.

* * *

Even worse, back at the coastal city of the Big Red Apple where 4Kids still stood, Al Khan resided at his office with a glass of grape juice in his very hand, sipping towards the skyline in a relaxed state. "By next week, all of their property will be mine," was the main thought that danced around his mind as if it were a bonfire; bluntly, each time that sentence popped up was rough five seconds wasted, let alone the fact it was as more immediate than a person watching a video over the internet who spend twice as long getting tricked by a promise of who knows what. The businesswoman, Ms. Smiley, came into the room and faced her superior carefully and spoke up to him, "you seemed calmer than usual, sir. I thought maybe there is by chance that you might be feeling that you have a plan for this, right?" Both people knew that was more or less out of the ordinary since the company's past exploits ended in such a great letdown. "I'm fine, please go away," the disturbed blond grumbled, "I also assigned you to come up with new slogans for the new program we're licensing right now, didn't I?" "Yes sir," Smiley nodded as she fiddled with the clipboard, feeling some sweat beading down her non-existent neck. Al Khan fretted his lip, withdrawing a deep breath before speaking, "What seems to be the problem now, Ms. Smiley?"

"Well, you're the CEO, sir," she verbalized, "We thought that it would be fair that vote on what will be the new name for the franchise so I felt that by meeting you we could arrange a democratic debate on it of some sort." "I'll think about it, ma'am," he responded slowly. There was only but a long pause that came along with what had been said until Ms, Smiley asked, "Have you reached your conclusion yet, Mr. Khan?" "Well, seeing that this is the greatest country of the world and the fact that the Team Fortress franchise came from there…umm," the bloated male wondered as he sipped on his grape juice just before reaching an answer, "alright then." "Thanks sir," she relieved since the businesswoman made sure that this was known with it, standing rigidly in place silently; soon afterwards, she decided to leave the room.

Al Khan was getting increasingly frustrated with how the concept of time in his eyes is starting to slow down. It was already bad before but now he simply felt about something; to make matters worse, as a businessman he knew about how capitalism work and how it would affect the Administrator along with her underclassmen at her disposal and Miss Pauling by her side. Why it hadn't announced this sooner the entire team would never know until that passing week came by like magic for when (either of) the two factions reached New York City, they would all be doomed to their new masters forever. Apparently, that didn't bother him and even if it did, he would care about it at all; in fact, he was looking forward to their demise since he now had it all, lock, stock, and barrel. All that Alfred Khan can do now is wait for them to show to work next week, go on with his daily affairs by hiring and firing whomsoever he saw fit and unworthy respectively, and make sure that the fit get the franchise locked in their grasp. It seems that the misery of the Administrator and the antagonism that Mr. Mann faced accumulated like snow and got stuck together as if they were about to become a sandwich the RED Heavy just ate for lunch, making Al Khan's dreams come true. Even though there were some Debbie Downers chanting that the end would come shortly, sixty years from now into the future, or even just only today (if possible), it was starting to look like the beginning of the end.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that was short, my friends; I wanted to go for several pages when I was using word processor but I think you all deserve a confession from me that will tell you why. Honestly, my Yin Yang Yo fandom has became so on my top one list, I scrambled to get it finish so I can work on my next chapter. After all, this is my first Team Fortress 2 story so reviews [of any kind (except the 'please update' crap)] are welcome; until then, I going to finish up on my other stories so goodbye!


	3. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:** What up, people? This is us, PenGator3 here now with Chapter Three... and it seems that it's still August.

Dominique: Of course it is, you big dummy! I mean your work on that Re: story was too quick thanks to the time you had spent since February.

Sanzo: True, my little Domino, true indeed; but, the job's done anyway for now.

Dominique: Well what about the review? Someone by the name greenmidgetcafe came by, visited it and said 'cool story bro.' He's not even a member.

Sanzo: Maybe, not my friend; but, it is our job to thank him so I'll start it off. (turns around and clears throat) To the person with the name greenmidgetcafe, we thank you for the review; in addition, you're welcome to review the rest of our story as our humble guest.

Dominique: Oh now your kissing up to him (no homo)!

Sanzo: That wasn't a kissup.

Dominique: Pause, Sanzo.

Sanzo: Pause? Pause what?

Dominique: You said somethin' gay, so you gotta say "no homo" or else you a homo.

Sanzo: But what did I say that you said that was gay?

Dominique: You said that wasn't a kissup. No homo.

Sanzo: That's not gay. I said that wasn't a kissup.

Dominique: Pause, Sanzo. If it sounds gay, its gay and you gotta say "no homo". How I know you not a homo, if you don't say "no homo"?

Sanzo: I'm not sayin' "no homo".

Dominique: Okay, today you are a homo.

Sanzo: Stop callin' me a homo!

Dominique: Then say "no homo"!

Sanzo: I don't wanna say "no homo"! Imma homo yo' ass, if you don't stop sayin' pause!

Dominique: . . . . Pause.

Sanzo: THAT'S IT! I'M GONNA POP A CAP IN YOUR ASS! (pulls out a gun at Dominique)

Dominique (scared as he started running): No Sanzo, Please. (Sanzo fires at him Dominique but misses) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.** AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Sanzo: OH YEAH, IT'S GOOD TIME TO RUN COWARD (fires more shots at Dominique)

* * *

It was a dark but quiet midsummer night in the desert; to start things off delicately, the sky was a mixture of a blackening indigo. Though seemingly lifeless, cacti stood up tall and proud as a few wily coyotes howled at the light of the silvery moon then fell asleep in hopes of catch their Roadrunner prey first thing in the morning. The weather so clear and clean was free of clouds of any shape and size; yet, only a little breeze of wind whispered around the barren wasteland created by Mother Nature herself as temperature was now dropped.

Despite the tediousness around the barren region only the RED Medic was up and was in the empty office. It contained a medicine chest divided into separate cabinets, a refrigerator for medicines that required cold storage, and a locked cabinet for controlled substances all which were locked. There were also some hospital beds and a bench nearby the door. The ceiling had a spinner fan suspended three yards from the ground while acting as the main source of light in this room like usual ceilings had whereas the background, better yet known as the walls that served as the foundation to the vast office, was surrounded in a fresh coat of bland beige paint which was substantial and acceptable by building code regulations. The flooring was draped in planks of lumber which made the area sturdy for the people in the room to walk around without worrying about slipping and falling on it. A pedestal desk was facing the door that was closed with several trophies from his original career, including random organs resting over it while a smooth wooden chair was sat on by the occupant underneath his desk; as such, he was peering at a magazine titled _"Mad Doctor Digest."_

As all seemed quiet for the medicine man, he heard a knock on the door that made get up from his desk. "Ein minute, bitte," the RED Medic grumbled as he walked towards the closed door while hearing the knocking on the door. Now with the red gloved hand on the doorknob, the German turned it clockwise, opened the door, and found someone this surprising at his entry: instead of his morbidly obese comrade or the Black Cyclops at the door it was Miss Pauling with her left arm behind herself who squeaked, "Good evening, Doctor Kaiserwald." "You look familiar because it seems zat I know you from somewhere," the 'good' Doctor Kaiserwald responded before he continued, "Aren't you ze Fraulein zat vorks vith ze screaming Admin?" "She's not actually that bad once you get to know her in a while," she calmly defended. The German stepped out of Miss Pauling's way and then asked, "vould you like to come inside, anyway?" "That won't be necessary," Miss Pauling declined as she pulled out an envelope from behind, "I only came here to give you this letter that you should read alone to yourself only; in any case, I should be going now. Goodbye…"

The young woman then left before Doctor Kaiserwald started to close the door back up just like the way it was before she came by and knocked on it; afterwards, the German started to sit back down in his chair, opened the envelope in question, unfolded the dissertation inside, threw away the now empty envelope into the trash, and started reading it. "Vell zat vas fery nice of her to say zat," he commented after skimming through the first paragraph with little difficulty. As Doctor Kaiserwald went off to read the second paragraph, he thought to himself, "So far, so good…" "Vat does she mean none other zan ourselves?" the German shouted as his exultant beam dropped to an incensed grimace upon reading the third paragraph, "Who are zis 'Redmond und Blutarch' zey schpeak of?" To make matters even worse, the moment when Doctor Kaiserwald seen the fourth paragraph, only a scream was expelled from his mouth that made him tumble over his chair, hit the floor, and fell unconsciously into a concussion; needless to say, this made unable to finish perusing the letter completely.

* * *

The same could also be said for the BLU Medic in his empty office. Although it contained a medicine chest, a refrigerator, locked cabinets, hospital beds, a bench and a ceiling fan the walls were plastered with gray. The flooring was arraigned in a ceramic tiling pattern. He also had desk just like his red counterpart only it had steel drawers, a lamp, and a bulky computer; as such, the BLU Medic was sitting on a swivel chair peering at the workstation monitor for anything sent to his mailbox.

Sorting through the day's mail from the bottom to the top deleting the useless spam and junk mail, only one message caught the attention of the BLU Medic with the subject in bold reading **Important Announcement**, causing him to click on it and be redirected to the message where he started to read it. Sure enough, a similar reaction came from the BLU Medic's mouth yet instead of falling into a concussion he turned off the computer after exiting the current programs. The BLU Medic then got up from his workspace and walked towards the closed door where her turned it clockwise, opened the door, turned off the lights in the room, walked out the door, closed it behind himself, locked it, and left.

The man went his team barracks in merely ten minutes with stagnant apprehension during the entire jaunt. It had the same ceiling fan (which had a light bulb that was on), gray wallpaper, and flooring that the BLU Medic's office only that it was twice as spacious. Only three casement windows were present and were sharing the same wall where occupants can look out at the nighttime scenery around them. There were only two rows of bunk beds aligned neatly to be facing each other as they all had forest green eiderdowns with thin snow white sheets underneath and some matching pillows. The room had only one flat television set and its power was on, clearly showing a sports program that could have garnered (almost) everyone's attention like flies/bumblebees to honey.

Now, the blue adolescent currently hatless was being laid aside stretching across the bed gently by his obese and black colleagues as he had a pair of white socks on his feet; yet, notwithstanding from the fact he'd retained his shirt, pants, and his prized dog tags was that he still had these bandages wrapped around his face. The Frenchman just quietly stood by the wall next to the door with a stick of tobacco infused between his two lips as a small thin gaseous streaming cloud of smoked sulfur, formaldehyde, arsenic, ammonia, and cyanide all rolled into one, watching what was going on. The cerulean sniper was nowhere in sight of the people watching the television for that he was merely brushing his own pearly white teeth with his own toothbrush like if that was only the one thing he wanted to do before engaging in a night by night siesta. That left only the BLU Soldier and the fire-retardant suit wearing person(a) up and awake to watch TV with the former using the lit end of the latter's flamethrower to light up his own cigarette. The short man was the only one that fell asleep and even with his shining, bald pate in place of his regular hard hat he retained his goggles which actually made it hard for the people in the billet to tell if he was either having forty winks or just plain wakeful.

Soon, the smoking BLU Frenchman started to hear something close by that made him take his eyes off the group present and turned around to see the doorknob being turned around clockwise as if someone was about to opened the door, stepped away from the entrance to allow passage and found the BLU Medic to be revealing himself. "I see zat you've finally returned, doctor," the Frenchman started as the doctor went the boy that rested on the divan where the black man and the fat man where standing by there. When the BLU Medic quickly examined the adolescent, he said, "at zis rate ze best vay of recommendation for tomorrow's mission is zat he vears ze Halloween mask to cover his temporary facial shame and scars; besides, zis vould give you an opportunity to scare away the REDs." "How can't this freaking mask make me feel better, Doc?" the boy shouted at him in anger and disbelief as the physician showed him the paper bag that had been crudely painted and drawn, "even if I wear the damn paper bag over my head, I wouldn't be able to see through this frigging thing and tell the difference between RED and BLU." "Well, if you poke through the eyes a bit there you could see through them," the BLU Medic defended. In half a shake, the BLU sniper then came from the bathroom and into the garrison with his hat and sunglasses and spoke to his colleagues, "I'm off to bed now that I have brushed my teeth, mates." "Wait, it's too early to go to bed; don't you want to watch the game?" the BLU Soldier asked as he saw the Australian take off only his headwear and spectacles, "it's the American sport of football…" "No thanks, I prefer Aussie Rules instead; after all, gotta to prepare for tomorrow's assignment," the BLU sniper responded as he fallen into sleep.

The clean-shaven military man pondered on these words and then attempted to turn off the television that the flamethrower's owner was watching after saying, "well, you know what they say in this country: 'early to bed, early to rise.'" The viewer got upset and muffled at him in anger which kind of sounded like that the person wanted the BLU Soldier to turn it back on. "Look here, Smokey Joe," the military man countered, "you heard 'Mr. Buttons,' it's lights out!" The muffling person brought up the flamethrower and aimed it at the BLU Soldier as if a threat was being issued in response, causing the military man to draw out his shotgun and point it back at the flamethrower toting person. "Will you both please shut the Sam Hill up already, you two?" the short man shouted as he sounded irritated at finding them arguing before any of the bickering two attempted to draw first blood. They then said, "sorry, Engie." "Ze Engineer is right, you subnormal halfwits," the sapphire Frenchman spoke up towards them, "zis is no time for any of ze random foolishness over an idiot box." "He's right, I know things 'ave been going rough but the last bloody thing we be needin' is for us to be fightin' amongst each other instead of them, especially when all o' us need shuteye," the black man agreed as he sat on his bed after sitting aside his alcohol on the floor. The BLU Medic then verbalized, "okay, zen ve should now…" After saying their goodnights and turning off there lights the entire team in the barracks went sound asleep, now dead to the world (for at least about another six to ten hours, of course).

* * *

The same was also said for the RED team's barracks on the other opposite side since it also had the same ceiling fan, beige style wallpaper, wooden flooring, casement windows, almost everyone under the bedding sheets, and a bulky television set that was already off. Though everyone was asleep only one pair of eyes were opened wide and it was the overweight man who looked around from his left and right but the RED Medic was nowhere in his sights at all. "Doctor," was all that he'd whispered as he got up and walked towards the nearest sleeping person in a gas mask who asked, "where is Medic?" The gas masked person tiredly mumbled to the fat one as the person turned away from him to recount the person's forty winks that were interrupted by the standing bear-like man's tedious inquiry. "But, Pyro I think something happen to him; do you think he'll be okay?" the man asked as he nudged the Pyro being by the shoulder, causing the RED Pyro to grumble by itself while sitting up straight from the bed, turned and faced the obese colleague, and started to explain it to him by using the RED Pyro's own two hands as a way of compensating for his muffled speech pattern. Although the RED Pyro tried hard to explicate the 'good' Doctor Kaiserwald's supposed absence, the bald fat man was still lost as what the RED Pyro's hand tried to tell him; nevertheless, the RED Pyro scrambled across the room quietly to find a pen(cil) and some paper as he look under the bunk beds 'til the Pyro came across the RED Engineer's toolbox and quietly opened and searched for its contents to avoid its owner's wrath. In a few seconds, the cherished paper and writing utensil were finally found and they were extracted from the very toolbox underneath the RED Engineer's bedding place; afterwards, the RED Pyro started to scribble a few letters over the once blank paper before handing it over to the overweight man who read the sentence written by the RED Pyro, "Medic is A-OK; now, please, go to sleep, Heavy…"

"Yes!" the RED Heavy rejoiced as everyone else present were awoken to his voice, "Doctor is fine!" "Goddamn all!" the RED Engineer shouted as sat up now awake and found the Pyro near him with the toolbox as the RED Pyro smacked itself on the head. The black man in red hollered, "can you keep it down lad? I still am suffering a bloody hangover and my bleeding head still feels like ticking dynamite!" "What the hell is wrong with you, dumbass?" the adolescent in red yelled at the RED Heavy, "can't you see we're all trying to sleep?" "But, everyone, Medic is okay!" the fat one countered. The man in the red suit threw a pillow at the RED Heavy and said, "Oh, fat man, please shut it! Zis is getting awkward!" "Thanks for ruining my snooze, ya potbellied lardass!" the RED Sniper screamed as he got out of bed still fully dressed with a pillow in his hand and walked out of the door, "I'm sleeping outside, thanks to you wankers."

* * *

The Administrator still sat inside her room paying attention towards the two active screen monitors that showed what was unfolding at the two barracks while Miss Pauling stood by her superior's side. "You're free to go for the night now, Miss Pauling," was all that the Administrator said to her underling. Despite seeing how late it is for her return, the young woman asked, "ma'am, do you think that hosting the cross-country payload race tomorrow morning is such a good idea?" "It's not your concern to talk about this matter at all," the aged counterpart only answered, "besides, this would only serve as a plot to resist the hostile takeover that 4Kids has enacted against us." "How?" Miss Pauling squeaked up. The Administrator responded, "simple my dear assistant, very simple you see, even though that it may take them less than a week for either of them trigger-happy associates of ours to reach New York City this will be a way of a response towards Al Khan's deal; but, that's all there is for now so you should disperse now, Miss Pauling." "Yes, ma'am" the young woman said as she started to leave the room before turning around one last time for the night at the ripened Administrator, "do you have a home or something to sleep into for the night?" "Don't worry about me, just go," Miss Pauling's superior answered as she sent the young woman away.

When Miss Pauling had finally left the room, the Administrator started thinking to herself about tomorrow's mission as the stared at the monitor in her room, "tonight, we have already ate, drank, and had been merry; but, tomorrow will be their last day. I don't know how and I don't know what they will do, but one thing is certain: 4Kids will not get their hands on them no matter what. All they just have to do is just tell them that they are not interested at all. If the plan manages to go well we will work to find some other way to contemplate this; however, should any of them fail, all chances of expectation for the company will be all for nothing. This should not happen at all."

* * *

Back at Mr. Blutarch Mann's room, he still sat down strapped to the machine with his eyes closed when his assistant walked inside with a tray of food. "Sir, it's been over ten hours since the conversation took place and you didn't say anything at all," she said as her boss became aware, "is everything okay?" "Of course not; better yet, what's the status report on the interloper so far?" the elderly male asked. The woman sat the serving dish down on a nearby platform, took out a clipboard, and read, "so far, we heard that the unknown ghostwriter has set up a profile on a website called about over a year ago and on that profile it says that four stories were written so far under the supposed screen name of PenGator3." "Hmm…" Blutarch started to listen to what the assistant had read on the clipboard as he wondered, "what were those four stories that the prowler came up for, anyway." "Yin Yang Yo, Evangelion, and, of course, us sir," she said. The male growled at the hearing of those words as he said, "that's definitely the interloper we could be looking at. Are any of my men are still on standby mode?" "As a matter of fact, most of them all left home from work about two hours ago," Blutarch's assistant answered, "however, Dell Conagher is still on the frontlines among the mercenary ranks." "I think you should leave the room now, Miss Bennett," Blutarch said to the now named assistant of his calmly but firmly.

As Miss Bennett had left the room, the old man started to fall asleep as he thought to himself about who the ghostwriter in question was, "whoever that poor Irishman is, it's assure that he will not get away with this. If this turns out to be another one of my despicable brother Redmond's attempts to wipe me off the face of the earth, I swear I'll do the same to him; after all, if I'm going to die then I'm going to take him with me whether either of us likes it or not. It doesn't matter to me now at all if my true BLU Engineer manages to fix this infernal machine. All I want to know is who… IS… THIS… PENGATOR3?"

* * *

Across the country, there was only a house with only one window being lit on; more descriptively, it was accommodated with everything that anyone could find in an average room. The ceiling had a spinner fan suspended ten feet from the ground while acting as the main source of light in this room like usual ceilings had. The background, better yet known as the walls that served as the foundation to the vast bedroom, was surrounded in a pale green while being two yards away from the epicenter. The flooring was wooden like a tall dead tree. Like always, there was a sleigh bed that rested against the wall, though fluffy yet small, donned in a harmless white comforter with chocolate sheets accompanied by matching pillows which the two of them were aligned neatly. There was also long beige sofa that people sat on in the past next to a coffee table as it held two bags, one a pewter tote bag and the other a purple backpack. About two dressers were varied by size: one was big and wide enough to hold a television set above it while the other dresser was merely standing next to a computer in use.

The user was an anthropomorphic being that typed on the flat keyboard like there was actually no tomorrow at all for that in its mind, time was now stagnant. It had a burgundy round body that roughly took the form of a sphere with a tan pear-shaped face; unlike much faces, some form of anger burned through those chestnut-colored eyes and rosy cheeks were starting to ruin the mood let alone the fact that it had no mouth. It was using its own small stubs for arms just to press the keys so that all the letter and numbers would start to say something on the flat screen monitor. It stood on the edge of the swivel chair with these light-orange/tan shoes.

"Soon… pretty soon," the being muttered, "everyone will see what I have accomplished. With my colleague still absent I will take over for him. Those people will regret cancelling the series as I type up the story. Then, once I sell this piece of work to the Japanese I will become richer for it is I, DOMINIQUE THE CHAOTICALLY NEUTRAL PENGUIN SOLDIER! HA HAH HA HAH HA HAH HA!"

"Can you please shut the racket up?" another voice echoed as its owner entered the room. It was tall blond male that stared at the orange creature with his purple irises with annoyance underneath his red dot. He wore a long taupe robe over his jet black turtleneck that was decorated with an green outlined sash riddled with Asian writing implant as it wrapped around his neck and rested on his shoulders. Though he looked like what people may call a ghostly apparitional poltergeist he actually had long legs beneath his robe and wore some black socks along with a pair of sandals.

The penguin, now known as Dominique, stared at him uneasily and responded, "sorry, Sanzo…" "How many times do I have to tell you to keep it down when everyone is trying to sleep?" the blond known as Sanzo exclaimed, "if you want to write a story so badly, you should keep it down and to yourself." "Well speaking of stories, my latest chapter is finally written up; would you like to read it?" the orange one offered as he stepped away from the monitor for the blond to read. After a while Sanzo said, "okay, time for the uploading…" "Everyone is going to like this if I do say so myself," Dominique said, "man, everyone is gonna to flip when they see this." "Don't get your hopes up, Domino," the blond said as he patted over the penguin's head. Dominique defended, "it's DOMINIQUE THE CHAOTICALLY NEUTRAL PENGUIN SOLDIER!" "Yeah whatever, and I'm Carl the Evil Cockroach Wizard," Sanzo sarcastically spoke back at the penguin, "well I'm turning in anyway so please don't stay up too late, alright?" "Oh, I won't," Dominique said as the blond left the room, typing down the last sentence: _though night already fell over the land of opportunity, it still didn't change the fact that the end was near…_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:** Well, that all folks (for now)! Just Please Read and Review...


	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Note:** What up, people? This is us, PenGator3 here now with Chapter Four...

Dominique: Speaking of chapters, why did you start shooting at me in the last chaper? My ass is killing me.

Sanzo: You kept on accusing me of being gay; that made me very angry.

Dominique: Matter of fact, why were we included as characters of the story? It doesn't make sense.

Sanzo: It was to break the fourth wall within the story; besides, it makes things more interesting.

Dominique (confused): Okay then, Sanzo; onto the disclaimer. **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.**

* * *

Back in the Big Apple, all was starting to turning rotten at 4Kids Entertainment for that their next plan to bring money back to the staggering losses in consummation of entertainment would spell the end for everything being said and done. Ms. Rainbow Smiley was standing up straight on her feet in contrast to people sitting underneath the refectory, discussing their new diabolical plot. "Everyone, it's Friday morning so it's time for our staff meeting," she declared as everyone was listening to her loud and clear, "my name is Rainbow Smiley and I'm the head chief of staff for Ft. Project; do you know why that is?" "Because you slept with Lord Khan?" the thin businessman answered under his breath. She, however, heard that remark and countered, "no…" "Because you have great inspiration…" the jolly old English businessman answered as he chuckled warmly. Ms. Smiley responded, "Yes, but why would they want me, an easily and highly inspired businessperson like myself to do it?" "Oooh Oooh, Rob knows!" shouted the stout businessman named Rob as he foolishly blurted out amongst the quiet crowd, only for time to be still 'til he had this to say, "Rob got nothing…" "Because it's time to take 4Kids into a new direction!" she said. Rob then said one word of question, "why?"

"It's very simple my dear Robin," Ms. Smiley dotingly explained, "remember the first day I'd shown up for work and asked 'what's your highest rated program?' And you guys said-" "Pokemon?" one of the other businesswomen answered. Ms. Smiley said, "Yes, and I said 'great, fire the actors!' Why I had said that? It's because what one calls success, another calls it failure; it's how one man's trash becomes another man's treasure and vice versa. For example, when people ask me 'has 4Kids made any success?' I say 'NO' because it's time to redefine success so that once you've embraced failure you can't go anywhere else but up and that's a business theory called negative elevation; now, I may be going a little too fast for some of you but I'm more than happy to slow it down. Are there any questions?"

"Just one: is it true that Yin Yang Yo won't get a new season or DVD releases from the Walt Disney Company?" the bald businessman with contact lens asked with his hand up as he was one of the few businesspeople not having the desire to fall asleep at a time like this. Ms. Smiley said, "good question; no… Our research shows that Michael Eisner refuses such requests in hopes of more original programming and profit; I believe in supply and demand. In that case, they feel that such a request like these are only for losers and for dorks; any more questions not involving Disney?"

"I got another question, ma'am," the rock solid businessman said with his hand up as well before continuing, "what are you trying to get at?" "I'm just saying that we should ignore the complaints fans make whenever they say we did wrong," she said sternly. The English businessman then asked, "I daresay, what would be considered so major to do on this charmingly fine day?" "I would like everyone to please look under your chairs and you will find a sample box art of Team Fortress 2; please study it carefully," Ms. Smiley requested as they did so, finding what was being promised was the casing of the so said game as its front cover depicted the RED Heavy Weapons Guy smiling with his trusty signature minigun in the foreground with his fellow teammates, the Engineer with a wrench, the Pyro with a flamethrower, and Sniper with his trusty rifle in the background, "this is what we will be doing for today." "What is this; cabbages?" the rock solid man shouted as he found the actual contents inside a box underneath instead of the Team Fortress 2 game. Ms. Smiley nonchalantly answered, "that's your free lunch, Mr. van das Schnitzel: your new healthcare plan." "To heck with my own health!" Mr. van das Schnitzel screamed as everyone else gasped in response, "I rather eat fried chicken instead… or maybe beef jerky…" "Okay then," she said sarcastically as a remote was pulled out of her pocket and its button was pressed on; soon, he'd suddenly exploded as his blood was painting the ceiling and walls of the room along with its occupants.

Surprisingly, no one was terrified of what had just happened for that they already had known the price of speaking out of turn and/or favor, a similar fate that poor Sheldon suffered only yesterday and never returned, so they continued anyway as the bloodstained English businessman asked, "I daresay, but 'ow does a mindless video game like that can help us with this? I mean, this is not even 4Kids material at all; it's just an M-rated video game that inspires school shootings and stuff just like Doom." "We're are aware of that, Sir Paid-A-Lot," Ms. Smiley spoke in response, "we'll just have change the format and content as well; that's should also go for the voice actors as well." "Rob asks 'how we do that, Miss Smiley?'" Robin said curiously. She then explained it to the dull headed businessman, "it's very simple: first, all traces of blood and gore will be airbrushed; in addition, since it's a video game, death doesn't exist at all but the game mechanism in Arena will be modified as well to conform with cartoon fantasy violence." "Okay…" everyone said as they'd all agreed.

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere out there in the eastern seaboard south of the New York City that dwelled in its own eponymous home state the azure wholesome skies and its puffy white clouds set the atmosphere in play as it circled the world's hemisphere with the golden yellow sun now rising up. The breeze was so gentle it titled the trees back and forth peacefully (and carefully), some of them didn't move at all; even the birds' sang an ode to the sky in a twittering set of chirps, soaring alongside the wind like dolphins out on the ocean. The flowers sprouted up from beneath the soil and kissed the fertile jade grass all while dancing around and about. A few automobiles of all shapes, sizes, makes, and even models drove through (and around) every street, road, turnpike, avenue, even bridge, tunnel, highway, freeway, and even some went off road. People were seen leaving home, most whom kissed their wives and/or hugged their kids before going to work; some went to undertake in the art of jury duty, with a few trying to get out of it on the way; others driving off to get daylight provisions.

The blond slept in the sleigh bed that was inside the bedroom no more than a mere ten hours ago and still snored quietly; however, what was different about him, aside from the fact he was under the covers like a sleeper cell agent, was that the taupe robe he'd worn last night was taken off. In place of it was a jet black singlet that matched Sanzo's gloves on his hands. The light blue jeans he wore on his waist though made him sweat with discomfort; in fact, he already woke up from his early slumber and found Dominique on the computer already typing words down on the active monitor like the sun never came at all for him, all while becoming increasingly tiresome.

Sanzo first asked the pet penguin out of curiosity, "have you been up all night?" "As a matter of fact, I have been," Dominique answered back, "in contrast to your slumbering snooze; luckily, I'm almost done." "You should be done, nonetheless; besides how did you manage to stay up for so long?" the blond inquired as he commented the black underlines underneath the penguin's eyes. Dominique replied, "I took some pills I had found in the bathroom last night while you were asleep; it kept me awake…" "You took pills?" Sanzo said out of shock, "how many?" "Just three; the label said only take one only but I took three instead!" the being said as he held up his stubby hand in a blind attempt to count. The blond got up from his bed and struggled to put Dominique to sleep, "look, maybe you should stop now."

"Why should I do that, Sanzo?" the penguin screamed as he tussled about to break free of his owner's grip, "We're still making good progress!" "Those aren't even words at all; it's gibberish," Sanzo countered back. Dominique, still tired and dumbfound echoed, "WHAT?" "I said those aren't even words at all!" the blond repeated, "it's all nothing but gibberish!" "I KNOW THAT BUT IMAGINE THE NADS ON THE GUY WHO DID GREAT EXPECTATIONS AND THE CHRISTMAS CAROL: THAT MAKES US PIONEERS, SANZO WE SHARE THEIR SPIRIT OF LONDON WRITERS!" the penguin shouted. Sanzo was already getting tired of this as he said, "Alright, that's it, I'm taking over from here!" "FUCK YOU!" Dominique retaliated, "GO TO HELL!"

Unbeknownst to the two dueling males, they had inadvertently tripped on a peach basket and fell onto the floor altogether next to a nearby wall. Although it moved the peach basket out of place and knocked down the contents within from there onto the floor, neither of the two were seriously hurt; however, the penguin fell asleep afterwards. Sanzo hurt himself slightly but he was fine nonetheless yet grumbled to himself when he was not only was this close to seeing what bereavement was like but also when it had almost happened as a result of Dominique's unholy resistance. The blond got up, tucked his pet penguin in bed, and took over; although he felt like euthanizing it as punishment for nearly being an accessory for Death itself to claim the early bird special he refused that opportunity and instead remedied the problematic work of literary leisure.

* * *

Then the attention was paid for to the western seaboard, the climate still nice outside with the golden sun now rising and shining up into the sky in place of its nightly counterpart sibling, the silvery moon. The buildings still stood up tall and proud while mine cart tracks laid by themselves down, bowing before them like the subjects of majestic royalty now off to fight in a fateful and worst of all ill-fated war. Though the basin was nearly uninhabitable it was, the environment itself overall was now below the triple digit heat (only until afternoon that is); in other words, the temperature was more or less cooler now, giving the thought of how unseasonable it would felt if one stepped in the desert for a while.

Speaking of the word cooler, the team barracks (one red, the other blue), sat there as the main focus of the area for the daily routine that was about to take place. As such always, each of those Soldiers got up from their divans, pulled out a bugle from underneath, and awaken all of their comrades with an awfully clichéd round of Reveille. As all of the occupants got out of bed the respective military men barked orders to them to hit the showers but not without hearing the responses from them: Scouts bitching about, Pyros' muffled hydrophobia, Demomen's hangovers, Heavies trampling over the molecules on the floor, Engineers saddling their trusty wrench, Medics wallowing in fear and loathing, Snipers armed with only a toothbrush, and the Spies nowhere to be seen.

In next to no time at all, they had finally reached the lavatory with their Soldiers following after them; generally, the room was roughly larger than the bedrooms. The flooring varied from style to color to the former constructors image and content, the same went for the walls and the ceiling as well. Unlike the bedroom, there were no windows at all since this was all for the primary sake of privacy. The bathroom was accommodated with typical shower heads and dividing walls to go with it.

The brave mercenaries then opened the doors, revealing the entrance. First, the articles of clothing were removed from each and every one of them all; now, they were bared, sensing the icy brisk atmospheric oxygen dousing the skin on the mercenaries' bodies. A step forward into terror was ironically taken as all nine of them carefully as they closed the doors behind themselves; afterwards, they'd taken knowledge of the mixer tap's three handles and placed their hands on the one in the middle and then the nearby knobs as well. It wasn't long until water shot out of its nozzle and onto their skin, bringing a (more or less) lukewarm feeling around them as they suppressed the redness from showing on their cheeks; as a matter of fact, that would have be coexist with the constant fear of voyeurs and rapists had it been if there were some females watching them as they commented about their hot bodies but it didn't come to pass at all, much to the occupants' (and arguably the author's) relief.

With a washcloth and a bar of soap they had started washing themselves. The ears were their first target as the feline's washcloth went both inside and outside of them with ease. Secondly, the mercenaries started scrubbing their faces starting with the cheeks on their faces, wiping away the accumulated dirt and soot from yesterday's battle and last night's slumber. Next, they bristled around their necks with the soapy washcloth in a caressing glee as they washed under their arms; luckily, the washcloth then rubbed their shoulders as spume seeped down those backs of theirs. Then, the mercenaries scoured their manly chests, soapy foams being left behind as they dripped around them and down to their lower torso. Soon, they bent over and started washing her legs from top to bottom 'til their washcloths reached their feet as they were scrubbed along with its palm and between her toes. The moment they were completely covered in foam the showerhead's nozzle fixed onto them again, this time rinsing their bodies around as the suds slithered down away from their skin and down into the drain.

Afterwards, they'd quickly turned off the nozzle which stopped spraying water over them then opened the stalls and stepped out carefully, feet tracking water on the ceramic floor. Aware of the moisture dripping down from themselves and the fact that the steam was wearing off they had picked out their towels, dried themselves off with them, and then wrapped around their waist compactly to avoid embarrassment from the constant nudity of one another.

The mercenaries then went towards the sink where they had respective mirror above it and armed themselves with toothbrushes; conjointly, they opened up cap from their own tubes of toothpaste, separated the crown by itself, picked up the tube, constricted out some on the bristles of theirs, sat the toothpaste back down whereas the toothbrushes were raised upward in its place, brought the bristles to their teeth, and started brushing them. First, they'd went to the back teeth and work in a clockwise direction the moment the toothbrushes pointed the bristles toward the gum line, in an acute angle, circularly in motion; quickly, the bristles rolled away from the gum line as it swept the surface of the tooth, removing the food and plaque on them. The mercenaries continued working in a clockwise direction as they ended with the lower molars on one side, repeating what was done earlier as it was now for the inside surface of the upper and lower molars. Then, they started to brush the back surface of their upper-front teeth as the tip of the toothbrush head was the only section that was in those mouths of theirs, directing the bristles toward the gum line with a flicking motion down the surface of the tooth going on for at least three times. The tip of the toothbrush's bristles faced toward the gum line again as it flicked upwards away from the gum line in a sweeping motion twice as it was brushing the biting surface of the mercenaries' upper and lower premolars and molars respectively and circularly. Next, they brushed their tongues around spherically for thirty seconds with another following along as those toothbrushes clean the insides of the owners cheeks, bringing a rough approximate time of one minute. Soon, it was finished off by rinsing the teeth all out with mouthwash before being spat it out into the sink; some fake smiles were flexed in the mirror as it was assured that the job was now done well. The feline then turned on the sink, washed the orange toothbrush free of residual fluoride, and sat it down in a nearby cup; sequentially, she turned the water off, brought the cap and the tube of toothpaste together, closed them tightly together, sat the toothpaste back down on the edge of the sink, and left the lavatory altogether.

Like always as such on the way there every day, the mercenaries returned to the locker room in little time in all with the Scouts first up ahead and the Snipers second in line. Looking for some article of clothing to wear for the day, they went to their lockers and picked out their uniforms assigned before closing them back up again. Then, the mercenaries took off their towel and started to first put on some undergarments; though none of them were neither in a towel nor in the nude, the soft texture of the tiles sent a message that reminded them to put on some socks and they did. They were now ready to put on their livery varied by hats, caps, helmets, masks, (sun)glasses, shirts, jackets, vests, overalls, coats, (jump)suits, body armor, bandoliers, ties, backpack, gloves, timepieces, slacks, khakis, jeans, pants, shorts, belts, boots, brogues, sneakers, and all sorts of expressions whatsoever. Now, the mercenaries were fully dressed as they were now ready to be leaving for battle once again like always.

But for every person that goes somewhere at a time like this good morning, whether to school, to work, or to a sponsored event, it's nearly impossible to start off the day on an empty stomach, especially for such people like the Heavy Weapons Guy for example; nevertheless, the mercenaries grouped themselves together with their colorful comrades in a cafeteria. Breakfast time was now filling the morning air, making the atmosphere feel peaceful in contrast to the battle from yesterday. A buffet table was also there holding a large tank of coffee, and all sorts of foods including (but not limited to) beef, pork, haggis, sandwiches, beans, tacos, canapés, burritos, and grits. While there were a few people having a stick of tobacco lit up in their mouths, the air was otherwise cloudless and immaculate.

But the main focus of those in red inside their own lunchroom. The Heavy was eating a sandwich like always while the good Medic, Doctor Kaiserwald, barely touching his plate of eggs as if a dark storm cloud was hanging over his head. The rugged Sniper drank his cup of coffee silently but instead of decaf, the bushman was drinking regular for that he was very unhappy for the RED Heavy's outburst from last night sitting away from the two. The Scout was carrying a tray of pancakes as he rushed to take a seat when he suddenly bumped into something steaming about that made fall; better yet, it was none other than the RED Spy himself whom was in the child's way.

The force of the fall shook the floor at bit; but, on the one hand the boy in red wasn't hurt. However on the other hand, both the Scout and the Spy were riddled with the smell of piping hot butter and maple syrup. Their clothes were now sticking about and soiled with breakfast. As if falling to the floor weren't enough, to add insult to injury, the boy was pissed off about it because these stains were barely going to come out and his mom was going to yell at him for it should he come home in this fashion.

"Look what you made me do, you shape shifting rat; mom's gonna kill me for it!" the Scout screamed as he got back up on his feet. The masked Frenchman stood up and flatly responded, "on ze contrary, little boy, you've brought zis on yourself." "yeah but still was their any need for turning invisible in broad daylight?" the Scout shouted as he sounded irritated at this unwanted discovery, "we haven't been assigned with another mission yet." "Well one zing is certain: we are both at fault now," the RED Spy countered.

As the two people in red were now arguing about whose was mostly at fault the BLUs were all quiet like a mouse during the holidays only that it was warm and chatty. The Soldier had been sitting down smoking a cigarette in his own mouth as if the art of dental hygiene was his own four worded phrase. The Engineer sat at the mess hall table, getting one of the sausages from the buffet table. The BLU Demoman drank his alcoholic beverage container ignoring the fact that he hadn't just soldiered through his own hangover from last night. At last, the BLU Medic stood aside as he was already finished with his meal being awfully quieter than ever.

This atmosphere was filled with stratagem and curiosity since this wasn't like their doctor to be this quiet. The black Scottish Cyclops noticed the BLU Medic's lack of words and started to break the silence, "Aye, what's seeming to be the problem, lad?" "It's nussing at all Herr Demo," the once silent doctor answered to the BLU Demoman's question, "just finished breakfast early." "Well, I'm beginning to be thinking that this is something more than a wee bit of breakfast you had been just finishing earlier and I'm starting to be showing concern about it somehow so I'm feeling that it is my responsibility, as your teammates, to be finding out what it is," the black Scottish Cyclops countered cautiously as he wasn't buying the BLU Medic's answer. The doctor sighed as he started to sit down, "maybe I should tell you." "Go ahead; I'm waiting," the BLU Demoman murmured as his patience was slowly wearing thin, "I'm all ears."

"Welcome to another one of your worst days of your lives; this your Administrator speaking," she had declared as her voice was spoken into the microphone. The whole crowd fell silent as they were now paying attention to what was about to be said; nevertheless, the Administrator continued, "here are the announcements for today. There will be a payload race first thing after breakfast today and as everyone already knows, each of the teams must push their own Payload to the finish whilst they stop the enemy team from pushing their Payload to the finish as well; however, the difference is that instead of it taking place at Pipeline it will be a cross country Payload race instead. Lastly, but not least, with the owner of an cherry red pickup truck with the license plate 'RGM-045' please move your vehicle right now this instant; your vehicle is about to be towed. That is all for now; goodbye…"

"Well, that was a close one," Miss Pauling, "for a second there, I was afraid that Dr. van Dachau was going to spill the beans." "One thing is certain, Miss Pauling; no one should learn about this yet…" the Administrator said as a puff of smoke had escaped from her lit cigarette.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Damn, we're so fucking lazy; nothing else to say her but this: **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** What up, people? This is us, not dead but alive, PenGator3 here now with Chapter Five...

Dominique: Why the hell you opened a story with a poem.

Sanzo: It's April, so it's poetry month.

Dominique: THAT'S IT? POETRY MONTH? THAT'S SO GAY!

Sanzo: No it isn't; besides, I noticed that you have been in some fight with our latest reviewer, **Putty5**... Is this true?

Dominique: Ah, der... All those stories were nothing but a pack of lies, including the latest one; in fact, s/he thinks were gay.

Sanzo (smacks Dominique): WATCH IT, YOU FUCK; YOU WANNA GET YOU ASS CANNED FOR TROLLING?

Dominique (scared): NO no; not at all!

Sanzo: Well, go and apologize right now!

Dominique: I'm sorry, **Putty5**; I'm sorry that I assaulted you with flames.

Sanzo: That's better; now, the disclaimer: **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.**

* * *

The darkness was merely but a simple element that mirrored the baleful vagueness inside the simple room just a lot like the night in contrast to the light that would shine some light on its opposite and from within was the digital clock reading 8:00AM in solid blue numerals; accordingly, it started to ring out as if it were the bells of sanctuary heralding very easy like Sunday morning. In response, the room had brightened up completely as it had brought many other machines, some simple and others complex, other than just the clock itself to life along with its owner, Blutarch Mann whom woke up from his long slumber with only but a yawn and had hit the snooze button on the clock slowly. With nothing much to do but muttering drivel to himself in lieu of fair words, the antediluvian gentleman headed out from the desk in his hovering chair. Before doing so, at least only two robots appeared with him side by side with only a sponge, soap, water bucket, towel, and a fresh pair of clothes in their possession. Being on schedule like the machinery in the background, they had gone to work to fulfill their benchmark programing that was installed within.

The chair spun around at (moderately) high speeds as it had been imbued with the windy forces of nature that would create a large tempest in any temperature within the season, even a cold one in the summer when things got too hot. As this was going on, one robot had removed the attire from their outfit quickly and carefully to make sure that it wouldn't deprive him of the life support that was so desperately needed to survive the sands of time's improvements at the hands of a Persian prince. Once the tidy whitey underpants were removed, Blutarch Mann was completely stripped down to nothing and it was time for a sponge bath; in just a flash, the other robot dipped the sponge into the soapy water bucket and started lathering him with it. As for the one robot that had stripped him down earlier, the clothes in its grip were actually the very same ones that were stored inside itself while becoming a mobile washing machine that drank detergent to clean its dirty laundry within the machine. Now, Blutarch Mann was cold, wet, and naked as he sat in his chair still wired and soaped up altogether whereas the other robot started to rinse their lord and master down; for the time being, the first robot was finally finished with washing his clothes and converted itself from a washer to a dryer to finish the process it was given. At last, the gentleman was so fresh and so clean along with his apparel that was treated like the emperor's new clothes; still, the set that was prepared for him beforehand nonetheless and he got dressed into that very set of clothing prior to his morning sponge bath. The robots started to brush the pearly white dentures free of the butter yellow plaque that tarnished its diamond luster with the toothbrush ladle with dentifrice; soon, the job was done as its subject was restored to former glory as usual.

With the suit and tie, Blutarch Mann ready for work like always and sent his cybernetic servants off and away, out of sight and out of mind; now, all he can do was watch his company did its own job, selling goods to its customers with anything from household appliances to weapons of mass destruction. In any case, its owner was sitting on the long lounge chair with no regrets whatsoever at what was being and what has been done (if there were ever was one); then, the door to his room had suddenly opened up and it was Miss Bennett who had just walked inside his office. Blutarch Mann soon turned around and looked at her with a disinterested scowl at the uninvited gesture that was made directly in front of him. Of course, she would tell her boss about how much research the former had done just so the latter can stay alert and be kept up to the minute; somehow, it was known anyway that something terrible was about to happen to their company and their rival nonetheless. For a while, the old lady had always been filled with energy and life when she was younger like all humans were; but lately, her employer had grown aware of her aging as she felt the same way. The bright, exuberant eyes that Miss Bennett once had were now beginning to grow dull and listless with the long fatigue of a weary life; in short, it was merely the pathos of things and it was very normal for people like her age to undergo that change.

"Good morning, sir," she said as he had become aware of the first three words that the former had spoken to the latter so far. Blutarch Mann however grunted and said, "what's the status report on PenGator3 so far now?" "" The woman sat the serving dish of breakfast down on a nearby platform, took out a clipboard, and read, "so far, the unknown ghostwriter has written another story on that profile and it says that one of his latest stories that were written was under the title of Yangnesia." "Hmm…" Blutarch started to listen to what the assistant had read on the clipboard as he wondered, "what was the plot of one of stories about, anyway?" "Well, sir little is known about the plot itself other than the fact that it was inspired by an anonymous reviewer," she answered. The male responded quietly as he then said to Miss Bennett, "that interloper must have been cooking up some kind of plan here, I wonder. Did any of my men find anything else about this PenGator3?" "Not that they know of as we speak of this moment," Blutarch's assistant answered, "not even Dell Conagher knows about it all to begin with." "I see; well, carry on Miss Bennett," Blutarch said to the now named assistant of his calmly but firmly as the latter left the room.

Either way this was not going well at all to begin with despite the fact that the recent conversation was more-or-less friendly enough to be on good terms. After all, from telling the difference of what had happened, what was happening, and what was about happen they were about to be dealing with an oh (so) pitiful shadow lost within the darkness. Though the old man orchestrated some terrible things due to a sibling rivalry that refuses to die like rapper named after a pair of American quarter, they were dealing with an outsider that was bringing torment and pain to others. As a result, they would all join up together to come up with an elaborate plan to find out, learn about, and of course stamp out this oh (so) damned soul wallowing in sin. Once that happens, then all that the interloper would be capable of is just simply know that perhaps it is time to die. Soon, the prowler would finally be found on a boat with a red eyed girl simply uttering the last eleven words, "this is vengeance so I am to ferry you to Hell…"

* * *

Everything had now transitioned forward to a different place already separated by time and distance alone by two hours and at least thousands of miles away from where the old man was. The atmosphere at New York had now already gotten bright and clear as the golden sun was still shining over the Big Apple like if it were just a farm in the humble countryside of the rural community. Many automobiles of all shapes, sizes, makes, and even models drove through and around other streets, roads, turnpikes, avenues, bridges, tunnels, highways, freeways, and even some went off road along with a few bicyclists at their side. As everything remained the same as it was like yesterday, people would find it typical to not find anything out of the ordinary. There were still people going to work either by car, train, boat, plane, or even on foot; also, there were folks who worked around or at their own homes and some who were unemployed looking through newspaper ads for some jobs. In short, everything else was just peaceful (for now).

Still, it wouldn't change just only one fact about New York City: it was still the place where crime had existed even though when it seemed very peaceful. In this case, it was the dreaded 4Kids that still stood tall and proud like a king's fortress should; likewise, its emperor Al Khan had resided at his office with a glass of grape juice in his very hand, sipping towards the monitor as all sunlight was blocked off. The person in the foreground of the monitor that caught his attention was none other than the Administrator herself with an indignant frown directed towards the man. It was clear that the conversation itself between them both was being made in sworn secrecy and that it was filled with mutual animosity as if they truly hated one another like if the relationship was hostile to those are and working in an oubliette. Of course, it was only Al Khan who(m) retained a calm demeanor during the entire natter as if he never gotten angry at all to begin with; yet, she was onto him and his plan anyway and wanted to have it fail. Other than that, it was just another meeting between businesspeople from different companies merely discussing only standard matters amongst themselves alone and nothing else.

The big man (on campus) sipped on his juice and let out a big sigh as he said, "well it seems that one day has passed by already and that there are only six more days to go; wouldn't you believe it, Helen?" "My job isn't to believe or disbelieve; it's to act or not act," (Helen) the Administrator said angrily as if her name sounded like the great cave offensive, "and don't you ever call me Helen!" "Either way, my victory will be greatly achieved as if it were only certain enough," Al Khan countered with a nonchalant demeanor toward the businesswoman's predicament. The businesswomen responded with a simple countering, "don't get your hopes up that soon or as mom would always say 'don't count your chickens before they even hatch;' besides, this isn't even over yet at all, Alfred!" "Oh, but it will be my fair lady; after all, this deal doesn't close until Wednesday so there are two options you might consider on: sell your assets to me soon or lose them all to the bank later on," the fat man threatened before continuing, "it's your choice madam." "If you want my answer so badly, then you'll wait for it to show up later on, that I promise you clearly," countered the Administrator calmly. Sourly, Al Khan finished the conversation with these words, "be as it may; I'll see to it with my own eyes very soon but for now, ta ta."

And just like that, the conversation between two businesspeople had finally ended for now. The monitor that had recently displayed Helen's visage faded to lack just like bleach itself, powering down before going out of sight and out of mind. Then, the sunlight poured into the room once again, brightening up the room as the blinds opened up while the windowpanes displayed the view of the big city across the skyline. Next, the big man realized that the glass with his drink inside it was almost empty and decided to refill the tall stemware to resume his consumption followed by the act of turning his chair around silently with a smile. Finally, Al Khan found himself hearing the door being opened as the knob in his point of view was turning around in a clockwise manner.

"Hello, sir," a voice greeted him as it was belonging to Ms. Smiley that came into the room and in the presence her superior calmly before continuing on with it, "so how did it go Lord Khan?" "I say that it went well if I do say so myself, Madame," Al Khan spoke in an equally exultant demeanor. She then noticed that her boss was feeling unusually happy at this moment and so the former started to ask the latter, "You seemed quite content today as if you were yesterday when we talked about it; is something on your mind?" "No, not at all," the fat controller fretted his lip, withdrawing a deep breath before speaking, "Everything is fine anyway; besides, have any of our voters decided on what would be the name of the licensed project, yet Ms. Smiley?" "Not yet, sir; but, we are still making progress nonetheless, Lord Khan," the businesswoman answered with slight bravado. Al Khan then responded, "well, I see now; just come back to me later when you all have finally decided on the name but for now you're dismissed." 'Thanks, sir," Ms. Smiley spoke as she started to walk out of the room, "I assure you that you won't be disappointed." "Of course not…" her boss countered as his own mind was now somewhere else, basking in the golden sun of what he alone perceived as victory.

* * *

Of course, the golden sun was also shining south of the Big Apple as it was still a good morning; in fact, it was only midday but before high noon. A few (more) automobiles of all shapes, sizes, makes, and even models drove through (and around) other streets, roads, turnpikes, avenues, bridges, tunnels, highways, freeways, and even some went off road along with a few bicyclists at their side. As everything remained the same as it was on what was once a good morrow, people would find it typical to not find anything out of the ordinary; better yet, if it's was just a regular show. There were still people going to work either by car, train, boat, plane, or even on foot; also, there were folks who worked around or at their own homes and some who were unemployed looking through newspaper ads for some jobs. Regardless whatsoever, Sanzo was one of them.

In this case, he was taking over from where his pet penguin, Dominique left off after a brief scuffle nearly cost them both their lives. Every single word that was being arranged was transformed from the nonsensical claptrap from long ago to the meaningful words that would make a difference thanks to the young blond. Irregardless, Sanzo made sure that all this literary mess was thoroughly cleared up by then to show that such kinds of writing would be anything but tolerated; after all, this did made him cross. Luckily, he was fortunate to get hours of sleep when it came to things like this, let alone be still alive especially after what happened earlier that very morning. Aside from his humdrum rage, the blond was having a hard time coming up with things to say about the story that served as the setting stage for the events that were taking the centerfold of history. Right now, Sanzo was finally finished with the paragraph that was now fixed to a point where it was just right like porridge; speaking of meals, the owner's ears hardened as he had just heard a sound, a low growl coming from inside the abdomen which was a message for him to go dine something.

Thankfully, he stood up from his seat and started to leave the room once again, travelling across the dark hallway; first in its sight was the living room accommodated with everything that anyone could find in an average living room. Here laid a table set with scented candlesticks even though he was single; however, the mere presence of some magazines and books were only capable of occupying his time. The only two pieces of furniture there were a long sepia sofa on one side of the room and a couch on the other side, the latter being next to a door. Over here, was just a nightstand with a lamp on top and a telephone nearby in case of any situation whatsoever that had to be attended to whenever it was simply called for to do so. Over there was a large television set with a set-top box from beneath that was displaying 11:45 AM as the current time in light gold numerals as if it were a part of still life itself.

Sanzo finally got to the kitchen and it was typically equipped with everything that anyone could find in there. Here, it stood an electrical stovetop oven with no pots or pans in sight, either inside the oven or underneath. There was also a dish-ridden sink that was begging to be taken care of very soon since it was now towering at an abnormal height of two meters. Over here also stood a fully stocked refrigerator with whatever food that anyone could find in there to their hearts' content; additionally, some of these run of the mill cabinets had been stocked with some food inside the cans. On one side there was a grayish-black microwave standing on a cabinet whereas a four-slotted toaster had been laid near the sink. As the young blond looked into the wild green yonder a dining table was in his sights and the dryer had been located a few feet further, already separated from the washing machine near the doorway from where he was.

Seeing all this caused some words to be said by the speaker himself present and to himself alone, "well, I guess it's my turn to clean up this mess right now; besides, the moment those plates start washing themselves, it might even be time to pick up the pieces and go buy some more from Cash Shrub." And thus so, Sanzo then started to go ahead and perhaps prepare himself into getting down to business.

* * *

Back somewhere out there in the western seaboard came but a train yard depot in the middle of nowhere. Unlike most of those depots in the existing world (of the living), this one was the shadow of one's soul, a ghost in the shell with a standalone complex doing its second gig. Though a brick wall was present along with a gate to keep things in check for what goes in and out of there, there were no fences nor even a watchtower that would've housed a rainbow of large shipping containers made of corrugated weathering steel that had a length of roughly over half a chain long; be that as it may, much of them stood on top of one another. The sound of heavy machinery doing its purpose had filled the atmosphere busily in contrast to the blank ambience within the outside world; overall, it was a sight to see in a desert where the temperature(s) remained on the borderline of reaching the triple digits. There were only rattlesnakes out there making some noise as they slithered around on the dry badlands, bringing a fair warning to those nearby with a little hissing. There was just a presence of fair winds light and variable blowing throughout the desert with the equivalent flotsam and jetsam executed on the high seas. The cacti stood up tall and proud amongst the scenery whereas the tumbleweeds rolled by like autumn leaves being whisked away by the gentle breeze that would herald in an approaching cold winter(time).

Speaking of the word equivalent, there were people whom were in attendance to what such an event they were about to partake in. Those dressed in red and the others clad in blue, these same two factions still both alike in dignity were in a group together were there comrades in two places separate but equal, unlike the ones constructed out of an unjustified past. Both had shared a dark secret stemmed from an ancient grudge breaking new mutiny where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. Each of those rebellious armed forces had the need to quench the fire of their pernicious anger with veins spewing purple at the texture of their own mistemper'd weapons. It was already past the breakfast time that had filled the air which made the atmosphere feel peaceful in contrast to the battle from a day ago as foodstuff and beverages were already consumed by their very owners. While there were a few people having a stick of tobacco lit up in their mouths, the air was otherwise cloudless and immaculate. Irregardless, they were all there for just the one and only simple reason and that simple reason alone: a race was about to happen very soon.

As everyone stood on the opposite sides that were divided by a barrier to prevent premature conflicts from brewing watching in silence and to conceal their close range whereabouts, they actually had no idea what could be going on and what would've caused it. The Scouts thought about what their own teams would be doing this time they talked about it a lot faster than their divine agility itself. The Soldiers had just still up tall and proud as all was calm, all was bright, all was peaceful, and all quiet on the western front. The Pyros did nothing but only disgorged muffling and wheezing when it came to such kinds of conversational speeches, the language arts going to waste as garbled gibberish spewed out of their masks. The Demomen drank out of the glass bottles, gulping down every milliliter worth of whisk(e)y in their bodies like that tomorrow was just only the same day. The Heavy Weapons Guys had just scarfed on their sandwiches and chocolates with pleasure as if food was the only thing on their gluttonous minds that doubled as their stomachs. The Engineers were only making sure that everything was still inside of their toolboxes so that they would fulfill the expertise which they were exceptional at on the job. Their team Medics had been playing the violin on their hacksaws cacophonously to lighten the mood that would already fill the void. The Snipers checked and double-checked their rifles in order to make sure that they were properly loaded and unjammed while keeping a watchful eye out for anything suspiciously out of the ordinary. Just like from a few hours earlier the Spies were still nowhere to be seen, hiding out amongst the crowd with only invisibility as their loyal confederates.

"Good morning to you all in attendance on this day!" a loud voice was heard over the intercom that brought the men to their attention, revealing herself to be none other than their employing Administrator (Helen), "I thank you all for personally for coming here today. As you may have already guessed about why you are all here at the train yard this morning; well, it is simple: today's assignment will be a payload race. However, unlike all payload races, it will be a cross country payload race which means you are to travel throughout the country that is on American soil to other towns where a mandatory stop will be made for lodging, food, and gas. The final goal will be stationed at New York City where your next assignment will follow afterwards upon your arrival at the final stop. Considering that you have all worked hard in past assignments, I see that there will be no use in explaining the rules to all of you here present to this moment. Just don't fail this one; have a nice day. Mission begins in ten minutes."

And so, the voice faded away as it was time for the attendants to go and become prepared for battle.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that all folks (for now); but, don't worry because we have more ready for you all in store coming soon...

Dominique: You mean now?

Sanzo: NO! And, I also know that you took a long time doing this crap so I'm afraid I can't let you get away with this!

Dominique: What do you mean?

Sanzo: Let's say you're going on a trip.

Dominique: Like a field trip?

Sanzo: Sorta... (pulls down the thread, summoning a trapdoor from beneath Dominique)

Dominique (freefalling): ! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


	6. Chapter Six

The weather was still warm outside seeing that the big blue sky was as bright like the shiny happy people outside with not even a single cloud or squall rolling alongside the vast and magnificent atmosphere, a solar noon hovering over the quiet neighborhood where every single suburban residence, big or small, was baptized in resplendent wonder. The flat and narrow concrete remained neatly on the very street, burning hot like the magma of an erupting volcano for it was laying down there in the hot sun while being used to the constant ritual of getting run over by vehicles of all sizes, makes, and even models that came from any street, road, turnpike, avenue, bridge, tunnel, highway, freeway, expressway, and even some went off road with their tires. A calm breeze strolled through the town offering a sense of serenity to passersby; in turn, a few pedestrians (and bicyclists as well) were all aware that the breeze would keep many of them cool and unperturbed as most went to continue on with their daily lives outside their homes. Other than that, it was so tranquil it was as if that very proximity was near some forested woodland that time had remembered, refusing to leave even when it was already known that the (post)modernism of civilization had colonized over there.

The penguin had slept on the sleigh bed that was inside the very bedroom of the house no more than merely a few hours ago and still snored quietly; suddenly, something was starting to pick where its nose was in place and it was very known to be only the sign of this: the scent of breakfast. In response, Dominique woke up from his slumber with a slow yawn and quickly jumped out of bed as the small feet had touched the floor slowly. With rays of sunshine peering through the blinds and the windowpane, the orange penguin started to leave the bedroom as he was now about to uncover the origin of this mysterious scent that brought his attention. To make the mystery even more interesting, his master [and partner (in crime)] Sanzo was nowhere in sight to begin with at all, making Dominique ponder where he has been at earlier and how it was all tying up to this from the very beginning. "I wonder where that small is coming from," the penguin only spoke tiredly to himself as he'd just started to head down the hallway towards the kitchen close by as those two eyes were still partially glued to the floor.

Dominique finally got to the kitchen and easily figured out what had been going on in the wake of the slowly growing situation that was discovered instantly to answer that question. Here standing on an electrical stovetop oven was a pan sizzling with such fruity aroma, blended in with the scent of meat as well as it was singled out by the orange penguin from the beginning since he just woke up to it. The sink was freed from the presence of innumerable dishes, having already been lathered, rinsed, and dried before being left inside the rack for the moisture still residing there to evaporate; some have even been put away as well. The onyx microwave standing on a cabinet above canned goods was whirring with life, cooking what appeared to be a plastic bowl of scrambled eggs slowly augmenting to the top of the bowl like a soufflé in the oven as the heat had been pushing it in with energy before shutting off with a sharp ding or two. As Dominique looked into the wild green yonder in his sights was a small stack of freshly hot pancakes resting on the dinner table above a mat in between simple silverware. In front of the penguin was his pet owner whom was still wearing his jet black singlet over the torso, matching gloves on his hands, and those light blue jeans on his waist; in addition, there was a look on his face that was critically mixed with a smile, a frown, and some expectation.

As Sanzo('s shadow) towered over Dominique, the former then finally spoke to the latter, "it's about time you've finally woken up Domino since this morning; how was your nap?" "Ah, it was pretty short but relaxing enough anyway," the orange penguin had answered him clearly before drowsing, "haven't slept this much good since that time we returned from our trip to Madison Square; wait a minute holdup a second, what are you up to this time, some kind a prank you have set up for me because if it is April Fool's Day is long gone?" "Actually, I just made some breakfast since none of us have ate since last night's dinner," the blond countered somewhat defensively to assure that it was only long ago but somewhere in the past. Dominique then slowly beamed up a bit as he showed Sanzo only two of his facial emotions put together at the same time: exhilaration and mystification, all the while with the former only saying to latter, "really, I mean you're simply just making breakfast even when I found out it's just noontime?" "Why, sure," the blond answered to the penguin, "considering that our work here is getting fluid reception despite your antics, I think that a reward is in order; by the way, I meant to say brunch anyway." "OH YEAH; THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Dominique cheered as he rushed into the kitchen right past Sanzo and started to consume what was over there on the dining table.

As this was going on, the blond then left the penguin alone in the kitchen to enjoy breakfast, the former assured that the latter would make no mess once that everything was turned off and all set. Just as Sanzo started to return to the room that Dominique had just kipped in earlier, he turned around to find no one around him at all yet he started to talk quietly as if for some reason his suspicions are validated, "between you and me, that will remain as our little secret between us; but, you tell anyone that Team Fortress 2 belong to us even though our ownership of it either as a game or any rights to it whatsoever are nonexistent, I will come to you house and shoot you in the back!" And just like that, he snapped back to reality before completely reaching his destination as if nothing had happened at all to begin with, leaving the silence behind just to be returned to the very hallway it was in.

* * *

Everything had now transitioned upward to a different place already separated by such [a (long)] distance which was at least about a hundred of miles away from where the duo were on; yet, it was still on the eastern seaboard. The golden sun was at the tallest point in the big blue sky that also accommodated the white puffy clouds, letting off its (high) yellow glow as signified that it was now a high noon at the Big Apple that was better known as the place called New York City. The (en)harmonic honking and beeping of the constant traffic jam that resided in between the foreground and the background of this big city was the sure sign that this was now rush hour, automobiles of all sizes, makes, and even models now at a greater disadvantage on the (super)highways, freeways, throughways, expressways, and even the interstates regardless of direction whatsoever. The people that had gone to work either by any means necessary were given an opportunity to just go ahead dine on their break, however and wherever they chose to do it as they please; in addition, the folks who worked around or at their own homes along with the some who were unemployed looking through newspaper ads for some jobs sat down to relax. In short, everything else was just peaceful (for now); no low flying aircraft, no suspicious odors, no detonations, no further name changes, nothing in particular whatsoever that would threaten the very stable tranquility that had brought this wondrously urban landscape.

The building where 4Kids still stood housed much of the employees and it was all at lunchtime in the cafeteria where it had just taken place; in fact, it was a typically quiet storm filled with many clichés. Some loud muzak had been playing in the background as it had dated back to a time when mere words were meaningless for a kind of rhythm of any kind. The lights blinked and flickered a lot less than often as they gave off their energy, burning bright as it illuminated the entire room along with those in attendance in spite of the dark void that had taken residence in their hearts and minds. Bottles, cans, cups, glass, plates, saucers, napkins, spoons, forks, and knives sat on balanced and stainless tables where many people had sat down as they started to eat, drink, and be merry as it could have been their last day. There were also shady characters of all sorts whatsoever, some slick and others smooth, residing in every corner carrying (almost) anything they can get their hands on inside their own briefcase; in fact, one person had packed up her troubles in an old kit()bag and smiled. The oxygenic air inside this very luncheon within the tall building remained just only wholesomely pure as a young virgin and spaciously cosmic like a large galaxy. All in all was just another brick in the wall.

But the main focus of those in the left were a group of four people that all shared a table like if the barbershop quartet were seconds away from performing for the next customer in their establishment. Rainbow Smiley had a bowl of salad that was tossed with an assortment of vegetables, some stream of pasta, a sprinkle of beans, a drop of a boiled egg without its own shell, some grains of croutons, some strips of bacon, some piece of chickens, a school of shrimp, a small cornucopia of fruit, some blocks of gelatin, a garnish of nuts, some slices of beef, a fillet of fish, and an abundance of cheese spotted in dressing while topped with whipped cream; strangely, not only it was at room temperature it had barely been touched. Rob had a submarine sandwich in his possession consisting of many slices of some candied ham and Swiss cheese slathered with Dijon mustard all in between a pair of sesame seed buns. The bald businessman had only a mug of black coffee inside with little sugar and no sign of cream which he was drinking silently since he was not in the mood for napping in broad daylight whatsoever. The Englishman had only a bowl of suet pudding in front next to a teacup which he picked up off of it small saucer and drank some tisane out of.

"Okay people," Ms. Smiley announced as she slowly chewed on a piece of lettuce in her mouth before swallowing it in her own throat, "considering that we have no more than a week left for this program 'Ft. Project' to be reconstructed I feel that this announcement has been brought up on such short notice; still, because the name 'Ft. Project' itself is nothing but a mere working title our executive feels that it deserves a better name than that. So then, any takers…?" "Ooh, Rob has one and it's Team of Four!" the stout businessman had exclaimed stupidly for an idea to be desperately accepted by his own peers. The businesswoman was not amused however as she disagreed, "that's actually bad idea, Robin…" "How's that a bad idea?" Robin curiously asked while adding on to the whole thing that made him just go on and respond to it, "why…?" "It's very simple: if we are going to license Team Fortress then people should be expecting all nine people in there not four; take any of them away, and that will mess up the entire planning process," Rainbow Smiley explained to him this very simply.

And then soon, the Englishman soon blurted out with his idea, "how about Bastion Squad, madam? It's brilliant and it makes sense plus it's also very quirky if I do say so myself." "Well, it could be a good name for the franchise but there could be others that are merely suitable for the franchise; still, I can't help but feel that this might work somehow," she responded just after when the daybreak's bell just sounded a ranging chime. Everyone in the room realized that mealtime was finally over already and quickly no less, a signal that had just indicated the resumption of work hours as many got up and finished their food, some who had thrown the inedible parts in the trashcan where many other will meet the one fate already known. In their case, the conversation amongst the four was already over with only three out of the entire quartet already finished speaking their minds and leaving just as the simple (after)thought of writing of merely writing its details all down afterwards had flown out the window like it had dreamed of for many passing moments in life that had come and gone.

* * *

Now the western seaboard's train yard depot in the middle of nowhere still stood up now, more tall than the cacti that gathered around and more proud than the tumbleweeds that were just passing through. Its reason that would support that plain existence was simple: the people were in attendance of an event they were about to partake in; those dressed in red and the others clad in blue, these same two factions still both alike in dignity, were grouped together with their comrades in two places separate but equal, sharing a dark secret that had stemmed from an ancient grudge which broke new mutiny as its civil blood makes civil hands unclean. Both ways, they were all there for just one simple reason and that simple reason alone: a race was about to happen very soon and it was announced earlier by their employer, a woman of an erstwhile and upstanding figure close to nearly losing it all within a week. Another reason for its existence was due to the locomotives, engines that would play a role in what would appear to be a cross country race on the railways that had spanned throughout the country known as (the United States of) America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. Since the starting point was already home on the range and right where how the west was won the finish line was stationed to the east near the rising sun all the way to what would follow next afterwards upon arrival. Considering that the mercenaries where veterans that have all worked hard in past assignments, it was like that they knew the rules very well and studied the details of the mission very diligently.

And so, the attendants had gone back right where they'd started (a brand new day) so as in to become prepared for battle and that was the team barracks where everyone locked on, stocked up, and barreled thru. The Scouts had loaded up their scatterguns before drinking their favorite beverage all after they had equipped themselves with bat. The Soldiers armed themselves with rocket launchers and haversacks on their backs which contained a blunt object well suited to the work of excavation. The Pyros did nothing but only hoisted their flamethrowers with sadistic glee either bringing a shotgun or a flare with an axe of their choice. The Demomen drank out of the glass bottles, gulping down every milliliter worth of whisk(e)y in their bodies like that tomorrow was just only the same day after arming themselves with any of the tools of destruction in which they wished. The Heavy Weapons Guys had just scarfed on their sandwiches and chocolates with pleasure as if food was the only thing on their gluttonous minds that doubled as their stomachs and not the miniguns or the fighting they can and will do once it starts to take place. The Engineers were only making sure that everything was still inside of their toolboxes so that they would fulfill the expertise which they were exceptional at on the job, all with a shotgun outside in their grip. Their team Medics had their hacksaws with them after loading their syringes into their airsoft guns. The Snipers checked and double-checked their rifles in order to make sure that they were properly loaded and unjammed while keeping a watchful eye out for anything suspiciously out of the ordinary with a knife in their belts and a shield behind them as if they were also wearing it along with the clothes on their back. Just like from earlier the Spies were still nowhere to be seen at, hiding out amongst the crowd with only invisibility as their loyal confederates while giving the feeling that they were preparing themselves or were already prepared to begin with.

In next to no time at all, they had finally been finished with the preparations since everyone started to transition from there to the train yard back again one more time with their Soldiers following alongside with them; generally, the room was roughly larger than the bedrooms. Everyone already knew what was going to happen today so stated by their Administrator (Helen) as if the latter had a plan that made up her mind on what to do this week since it was all going to end that fast like if their entire world was this close to experiencing a grave cataclysm of epic proportions that was bound to happen even though its actual date is unknown and still far off into the future. When they all got again they found locomotives that spanned by two carriages and a caboose at the end; like earlier, as if usual, everyone was divided by a barrier to prevent premature conflicts from brewing a moment too soon watching in eternal vigilance, waiting for further instructions, and plotting in silence. Either way, it was like that deep down time was steadily running out for that there were two pairs of feelings within their atmosphere: there was expectation and excitement for the mission that they were going to participate in; in addition, there was also fear and forgetfulness of why they were all there. Why she hadn't explained this sooner the mercenaries would never know for, when no more of the deadline would be completely depreciated, Helen would have nothing at all to own and they all were doomed to be part of this organization from the other side forever [or at least 'til the end of (their) days]. Apparently, that only bothered their Medics and even though it did, any hint of it showing that they were going far out of their character(istic)s to the point where they have pushed the envelope; in fact, it was safely assumed they were both from a time and place when some decided to turn their wonderful world into a graveyard and into it had they shoveled all of their reason, their logic, their knowledge, but worst of all their conscience. Besides, none of them were actually truly looking forward to this since they had nothing that could have just at least for once did anything to prevent it; after all, it was still too soon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that was short, my friends; I wanted to go for several pages when I was using word processor but I think you all deserve a confession from me that will tell you why. Honestly, I was taking up so much time to do so, I scrambled to get it finish so I can work on my next chapter of Re: Yin Yang Who now subtitled Yin Yang Yo! Forever due to constrants in time and budget. There I said it; can I go now?

Sanzo (pissed): Not yet, fucker; your goddamn tardiness has placed up in a timeline so inconvenient we can't even focus right! Ergo, I have oNE more assignment for you now, Jigoku Shoujo fan!

Dominique (surprised): Wait, first of all what makes you think I watch that show?

Sanzo: Uh der, our latest review from **The Famous Fire Lady M** praised this story for such a reference in the last chapter; do you wanna go Hell just to see her that badly?

Dominique: NOO!

Sanzo (screaming): WELL, DO THE FUCKING ASSIGNENT GODDAMNIT!

Dominique: Okay then; one question, though: what is this assignment you want me to do?

Sanzo: Sing the national anthem...

Dominique: Which one?

Sanzo (enraged): THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER, YOU FUCK!

Dominique (scared): OKAY! (searches to find a stage in which many people are there in the audience but no orchestra in sight at all; still, he decides to get on the stage and sing it acapella):

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light  
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?  
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,  
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?  
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,  
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.  
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave  
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Sanzo (remained silent and waited unemotionally whereas the rest of the audience clapped, cheered, and chucked flowers at Dominique as they choked back their joyful tears before leaving while the curtains close on the penguin): Alright then; now that is has been already done here for now, it would be my encouragement to request the support of our story from you readers out there by reading and reviewing this fanfic. Flaming and trolling however is severely prohibited. Thank you...!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note:** Well, hello everybody this is PenGator3 here asking you readers out there how was the holidays treating you. Well, just so you know here, I have seen a white Christmas out there and got a Nintendo DS lite as well; but now, I would like to give a gift out to you all straight from my heart: Chapter Seven of "4Kids Does Team Fortress 2."

Sanzo: Like you ever had a heart; last time I've checked you people had a digestive system inside yourself and nothing else.

Dominique: Shut up, Sanzo! There are many things that you don't know about us at all here sir.

Sanzo: Yeah like how Valve just released the Australian Christmas upload on Team Fortress and you didn't get one?

Dominique (punched Sanzo in the shins): That's not the point here; the reason we came here today is because of this story and since you have interrupted me the least you can do is read the disclaimer for me instead.

Sanzo (rolls his eye): Whatever; **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only.**

* * *

Now Blutarch here was now still behind his very desk as so with the machines attached to him in a way that his light would not be extinguished too sooner than today itself(, not yet that is). Other than his assistant Miss Bennett beside him, he was indeed the only occupant inside still living and breathing up to this very day as usual despite the current situation at hand with the old time, space, dimension, imagination, place, and setting whatnot; apparently, he was used to it because it truly gave him some precious time plentifully to observe and report whatever was going on around with the company. Needless to say, it had been an eventful yesterday considering the certain changes going on here with the mercenaries and their mysterious employer being in a current situation here that had taken place with little to no knowledge of it all whatsoever involving 4Kids and their leader Alfred R. Khan watching, waiting, and plotting their next move for things to come (and go). The antediluvian gentleman was currently by her side looking over the internet that had been hosting about many topics quite much before and after what could have been seen as rotten timing for many under normal circumstances concerning the situation at hand somehow. Honestly, it had almost felt so lonely that Blutarch had glanced at the digital clock and it had read out 10:15PM in a mere thematic pigment for him to clearly look and see it all at once thusly.

Soon, he had quickly turned his attention back to the woman nearby him like nothing else had ever even happened with the intent to strike up a conversation between the two to drop all suspicion at once. "Is there anything else new so far on this so-called 'PenGator3' fellow, Miss Bennett?" the antediluvian gentleman had asked her wondering if this guy he had dubbed the interloper did anything else in particular ever since that incident in particular that had gotten his attention. Miss Bennett then answered Blutarch's question quickly with pointblank precision and accuracy, "so far, he has updated one of his recent stories, 'Re: Yin Yang Who?' by posting chapters four and five here; additionally, his reviews are turning out to be a bit more favorable so far." "Is that so?" he countered suspiciously as he was starting to believe that something was a bit more amiss that just that, "what about this story involving us?" "Currently, this story as at least two reviews for chapter one: one from a 'Elina Bella Kruger-Voorhees' telling him to 'please update' and a 'cool story bro' from greenmidgetcafe," the woman spoke as she had inspected the story belonging to PenGator3. Wincing at it, the antediluvian gentleman continued, "so it seems that only two people here have seemed to know about all this going down with everything." "I believe that it is quite the contrary, sir…" she contradicted just after backing out from the review box of the story and checked on the other stories belonging to this internet profile online, "they are just merely stories written by people around the world just to express their talent in the literary arts; you should try it out once in a while, sir."

"Yeah, maybe I should do it; when all is said and done here, I might send a message to him to stop writing this story about it for once and leave…!" Blutarch thought to himself a bit loudly as an idea was starting to form in his head. Growing a bit irked at such a scheme but not completely angry at all, Miss Bennett offered a more suitable idea to him instead, "or we can write him a cease and desist so it can all end; after all, if it had seemed to be so much of a problem lately for us, then maybe it would be better that we would rather file a lawsuit against this man." "You have seemed to have forgotten one thing, madam…" he spoke to the woman feeling somewhat challenged yet not threatened somehow by that suggestion, "who's in charge here?" "You are, sir…" she had answered the antediluvian gentleman after sighing in faint annoyance somehow. Faintly pleased with this simple answer that Miss Bennett had given, Blutarch replied, "that is exactly what I have thought Miss Bennett…" "True but please look at it this way, sir: it could be just an innocent prank and he may not know about what he's doing to us," the woman had slowly but carefully (pro)posed to him, "after all, he probably doesn't even know who we are." "But the fact remains here that this story of his will end soon enough once we have all the details about this man; 'til then, it's only recommend that you leave the thinking to me for now on what to do with him for his antics, Miss Bennett," the antediluvian gentleman said to her while dismissing her.

When it all got quiet here and there, Miss Bennett had already left the room that her employer, Blutarch Mann, still resided in and there was no doubt that this recently acquired sense of tranquility that had come back to him quickly upon arrival, not to mention that it was something that he was so accustomed to for that long it was like akin to a true lover to look up to for comfort; in short, he had liked it the way it was. Still, the fact remains is that trouble was marching on ahead continuously like a swift and brutal horseback cavalry from the faint memories of war coming back to life in the faces of a postmodern civilization as if there was nothing stopping them at all. Either way, it was starting to look like the beginning of the end somehow…

* * *

Now the western seaboard's train yard depot in the middle of nowhere still stood up now, more tall than the cacti that gathered around and more proud than the tumbleweeds that were just passing through. The people that were in attendance earlier, the red and the blue were about to partake in: a race that was about to happen very soon, announced earlier by their employer, a woman of an erstwhile and upstanding figure close to nearly losing it all within a week; in fact, the locomotives would play a role in what would appear to be a cross country race on the railways that spans throughout the country known as (the United States of) America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. The starting point was home on the range and right where how the west was won the finish line was stationed to the east near the rising sun all the way to what would follow next afterwards upon arrival. Considering that the mercenaries where veterans that have all worked hard in past assignments, it was like that they knew the rules very well and studied the details of the mission very diligently; however, this was just a front given to them by Helen herself: the real reason was that it was involving 4Kids and the takeover. While that there are plenty of reasons and motive for all this, this was probably out of personal frustration and defiance. Either way, it was like that deep down time was steadily running out for that there were two pairs of feelings within their atmosphere: there was still expectation and excitement for the mission that they were going to participate in; in addition, there was also fear and forgetfulness of why they were all there. Why she hadn't explained this sooner the mercenaries would never know for, when no more of the deadline would be completely depreciated, there would be nothing and they all were doomed to be part of this organization from the other side forever [or at least 'til the end of (their) days].

And so, the attendants had become prepared for battle and had returned from the team barracks where everyone locked on, stocked up, and barreled thru. Already loaded up with their scatterguns and baseball bat, the Scouts had drunk their favorite beverages before discarding them in the trashcan. The Soldiers already had themselves with rocket launchers in their hands and blunt objects in their haversacks. The Pyros already hoisted their flamethrowers with sadistic glee and brought either a shotgun or a flare with an axe of their choice. The Demomen had gulped down every milliliter worth of whisk(e)y in their bodies like that tomorrow was just only the same day after arming themselves with any of the tools of destruction in which they wished. The Heavy Weapons Guys were still thinking about the miniguns that would pierce the living tar off of its victims and/or the bareknuckle fighting they can and will do once it starts to take place. The Engineers had made sure that everything was still inside of their toolboxes so that they would fulfill the expertise which they were exceptional at on the job, all with a shotgun outside in their grip. Their team Medics had their hacksaws in the back of them and their airsoft guns were out fully loaded with syringes that would drive the point home at the end of the world. The Snipers had checked and double-checked their rifles in order to make sure that they were properly loaded and unjammed but still kept a watchful eye out for anything suspiciously out of the ordinary with a knife in their belts and a shield behind them. The Spies were still nowhere to be seen at all, hiding out amongst the crowd with only invisibility as their loyal confederates while giving the feeling that they were already prepared for this certain occasion to begin with.

All that they were truly waiting for was the battle to begin, a battle to decide the fate of what seemed to be their entire world around them, a fate that would either spell out extermination, transformation, or survival. Just as they were extremely unaware of their mysterious employer controlling both of them at once, they were also extremely unaware of the fact that something had happened to both of them at once. In more ways than one two of these factions, both alike in dignity have shared a dark secret stemmed from an ancient mutinous grudge staining civil hands with such a cherry ooze, were an example of push and pull and that has been the nature of their relationship for all time. They were like the moon and the ocean, circling each other in an eternal dance, balancing each other like directions on how to get in and/or of a building, like life and death similar to a newborn baby's first breath and a dying man's last gasp, good and evil parallel to angels and demons waging war over the souls of humanity, but mostly Yin and Yang akin to (fraternally) twin cottontails engaged in a sibling rivalry against the behest of their sole parent and guardian. The two sides of the coin, heads and tails, that require each other's existence on the flipside to become legitimate and one like opposing wyverns from a yonder land similar to Earth but different and rife with creatures different from animals that tag along with humans as more than tools to fulfill their ambitious dreams. The shifty poles of the globe that would herald the end of everything (including the end of world) if either one had disappeared from the face of the planet by whatever means whatsoever. In short, they were all the same and different altogether as well.

Still, time was about to run out pretty soon and the participants knew what would happen when all was said and done considering their typical expertise from offense to defense to support all depended on more than just marksmanship but rather things like abilities, spirit, knowledge, bravery, tactics, guts, and luck. There was no use fighting back the future let alone sleep it off seeing that the day has already begun and that it was just getting started; after all, it would all be over in a few minutes. All that was start to tick on down shortly.

* * *

Later, back at New York City where the eastern seaboard had lain in a company building called 4Kids all was still not well. Inside the penthouse where he had currently resided, Alfred R. Khan was indeed the only occupant inside still living and breathing up to this very day as the current situation at hand with the old time, space, dimension, imagination, place, and setting whatnot fell into his favor; apparently, he was used to it because it truly gave him some precious time plentifully to observe and report whatever was going on around with the company. Needless to say, it had been far from an eventful yesterday considering the certain changes going on here with his underling being in a current situation here that is currently taking place whatsoever involving 4Kids and their leader watching, waiting, and plotting their next move for things to come (and go). The (over)heavy gentleman was currently drinking juice looking over the internet that had been hosting about many topics quite much before and after what could have been seen as rotten timing for many under normal circumstances concerning the situation at hand somehow; yet, it was good timing because that they were a part of it. Alfred had glanced at the analog clock and it had read out 12:15PM in a circumferential motion for him to clearly look and see it all at once thusly.

Now it seems that he was on the internet looking at the profile of some person on and its name was PenGator3, an avatar consisting of Sanzo in clerical garb standing firmly on the left side of the square picking his right ear and Dominique angrily leaning next to him with their names in a vertical fashion. The man had just known the basic facts about this writer in question, the name being Justin, the birth on 1994, his gender being male, and a large preference of his favorite cartoons on display including the ones like "Yu-Gi-Oh!" and its successors. At the top was poll that read "do you think that Yin Yang Yo deserves a third season?" and Alfred had voted no, the first choice over the second, yes; however, his response compared to many others was meager since there were those who were there before him total, most whom had voted yes based on the results shown. Grumbling to himself angrily, he had scrolled on down to where the stories belonging to the owners were posted; apparently, there were only four of them at that moment: A Cat and Fox's Tale, Re: Yin Yang Who(?), 4Kids Does Team Fortress, and If 4Kids got Evangelion. The man clicked on the underlined story below the others as if it were the very first story that had been written, let alone the one to be completed rife with only ten reviews; while the screen was loading, he wondered to himself, "well this should be interesting…"

Indeed, it did turn out to be interesting for Alfred to read, let alone discover as the words instantly popped up at once onscreen all there, black and white, clear as crystal. Ignoring both the author's note and the disclaimer that were at the top first, it was where he would fantasize nothing but bliss, bliss and heaven, as it was gorgeousness and velocity made flesh; it was like a bird of rarest spun heaven metal singing the voice of many angels about the glory of eternity with a higher power or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now for it was high like a kite in the sky. It was thought to be going a long, long time to touchdown and bring the man around again to find that he's not the man he thinks he is at home; instead, he is a rocket man burning out his fuse out here alone. As Alfred had just started engaging in reading the story, only the similarities and congruencies of such lovely pictures would come to mind like of a young woman being hanged, the rampant explosions that had devastated the beautiful earth, a rockslide burying countless victims underneath, and/or the eruption of a dormant volcano.

When he got to the end, he was disappointed to find that the story he had read was short, only standing at a thousand and twelve words totaling the supposed drabble and the additional words that sparked notes and the criterion altogether; however, he'd seen that thinking was for the stupid ones and that the brainy ones use like inspiration and what heaven sends, for now it was lovely music that came to aid and seen at once what to do later on. Of course, there was no end in sight for what would follow after this; after all, there was still some time ticking down and it was not over yet by a long shot.

* * *

Down south from here, it barely did any justice (t)hereon let alone spelled it out either way as it's all good in a neighborhood for these two occupants at home. While Dominique was eating his brunch away with gusto back in the kitchen(ette), Sanzo on the other hand here was on the computer looking over some of the documents onscreen. While there were practically many of them that were recently typewritten by the orange penguin earlier so far in the past ready to be instantly shared over the internet for people to see anytime and anywhere they choose to please, the blond man here was now either finishing up were it was left off, regardless of page/word length or proofreading the ones that were already finished up to begin with but had an abundance of illogical inaccuracies, continuity errors, and incoherent gibberish on so many levels. Perhaps, it was because although that it seemed like it was thankless job taken up by only them and them alone at their own (freedom of) choice whatsoever, Sanzo felt that things like professionalism, punctuality, competence, and maybe a bit of honesty were the best policies that should be taken up as seriously as each and every situation had required, something that Dominique had neglected to do frequently. Besides, it wasn't just because of only that here and there itself per se, but rather the stuff itself that made the recent memory of them fighting this morning fresh in the blond man's thoughts; while he, along with the penguin, had luckily avoided a swift and potential death, the former was still miffed about it. However, Sanzo was not the kind of person to let emotions get in the way of what he was doing even though there was a good chance that he would rather destroy whatever senseless creation made by Dominique's impulsive decisions. Still, the blond man's sense of honor and integrity had kept him from doing any kind of damage whatsoever to the penguin's opus for the former was the latter's partner in crime nonetheless.

Soon, Sanzo had turned to realize that Dominique was now back in the room with the former, already finished with the latter's meal plate quicker than a raging semi. "Hmm… so you're back again so soon; ain't that so Domino?" the blond guy chuckled subtly before turning to face the orange penguin, "I was hoping that with all that food you'd be tired and full by now." "Correction, Sanzo: more like full of food and energy!" Dominique brightened as he had flexed his stubby arms in hopes of muscles popping up from them for Sanzo to see. Rolling his amethyst irises over like a sneezing dragon, the blond said to the orange penguin, "anyways I had just finished cleaning up your pile of shit work you called a story; therefore, you now owe me two small favors: one is that you'll mow the lawn and two is where you'll sweep the living room no later than today for me." "What, are you crazy!" Dominique recoiled in shock due to what Sanzo had announced to the former to hearing, "what makes you think I should do these things for you and why do I have to be the one?" "Simple, Domino: one is you get your ass in gear before I kick it into high gear and two is because practically your typewriting skills do nothing but could have made us look like a joke to everyone who could be reading it…" the blond guy answered to the orange penguin explaining it all logically. Pondering on this for a brief moment and nothing longer, Dominique reluctantly surrendered to this form of an idea, thus leaving the bedroom with but a sigh that was translated into a familiar and vocal, "fine…!" "At least you'll be able to use that newfound energy to something more productive than insane bullshit gibberish nonsense, you know…" Sanzo shouted over mockingly before turning over to the computer nearby him on the desk; when he'd sat back down he'd looked over to find everything was in complete and total order thusly finishing it off with the last line of the chapter, **"PLEASE R&R!"**


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: Well, January just jousted on by here jubilantly as we, PenGator3 bring you another chapter to our story, "4Kids Does Team Fortress 2!"

Sanzo: Wow, ain't that time for it all.

Dominique (annoyed): You know, the New Year just started; can you at least have some pride in making some New Years resolutions at least?

Sanzo: Fine then, my New Years resolution is to kick you ass...

Dominique (scared): You're joking right... right?

Sanzo (laughs): No...!

Dominique (starts running away from Sanzo as he gives chase): AHHHHHHHHHHH! **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only!**

* * *

Now, for what had seemed to be a brief while, the Administrator had sat inside her room paying attention towards only the two active screen monitors side by side: those dressed in red and the others clad in blue, these same two factions still both alike in dignity were in a group together with their comrades in that train yard since when breakfast had ended or to put it in layman's terms "when all was said and done" indeed; respectively, one faction was displayed on the left monitor while the other on the right. The fact that the desert was perhaps a potential hotspot for some animals such as muskrat to dwell in a place that were to be dry as a patriarch's meatloaf was proof of that location. Nevertheless, a race that was about to happen very soon, announced earlier by none other than herself whom was close to nearly losing it all within a week; in fact, the locomotives would play a role in what would appear to be a cross country race on the railways that spans throughout the country known as (the United States of) America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, starting at the home on the range and ending it all on the other side away. Considering that the mercenaries were all veterans that had worked hard in past assignments, it was like that they'd knew the rules very well and studied the details of the mission very diligently; however, this was just a front given to them by Helen herself: the real reason was that it was involving 4Kids and the takeover probably out of personal frustration and defiance. Regardless, time was running out for that there were at least a bit of uncertainty about why she hadn't explained this sooner to the mercenaries whom would never know, for when no more of the deadline would be completely depreciated, there would be nothing and they all were doomed to be part of this organization from the other side forever [or at least 'til the end of (their) days].

Just as then, someone had entered the very room where the Administrator was, seeing that the latter was practically alone for quite a while: the former was none other than little Miss Pauling; in fact, it would be frank to say that at least several brief minutes have passed, no more no less. "Ma'am…" was the one and only word that brought the old(er) woman to attention, turning around to simply find her assistant with a stack of papers in those two hands. Turning back around to focus onscreen again where the men were preparing for what could be their final mission as employers of this company, Helen asked her nonchalantly, "so tell me, what's the agenda for today, Miss Pauling?" "Well, um," Miss Pauling peeped, fidgeting her glasses and scrambling to find one of the sheets of paper to read until she had quickly found one to do so, "well today at noon, you have a luncheon with a Mr. Alfred R. Khan of 4Kids Entertainment concerning the buyout of TF Industries; plus, he has something to talk to you about as well." "Well, until that man decides to speak to me about that issue when that time comes, no one is to speak of that accursed name and that anyone that does so will be given a punishment so horrible they'll might even think of it as a blessing; aside from that, what's also next on the agenda?" the Administrator snarled slightly at that name belonging to someone whom was tending to this cataclysm with high expectations before recomposing her back to her calm and collected state of mind once again. Marginally shaken by that response from her elder employer about this top priority that was read out aloud on paper, the assistant continued on down to the page, "one of our financial advisors, Denny Jo, has suggested reviewing the fiscal period one more time with help of our crack team of accountants in order to find out if the bankruptcy was real or not." "Ah, well let her do as she wishes anyway," Helen responded as she watched the countdown clock wind down a bit at a natural pace, "if she does find something useful, then we'll practically give out what's coming to her." "Lastly, our board of directors has just reviewed the map for today's mission and they're starting to worry if this idea of sending them all the way out on a cross country travel to New York City as a response to, err umm, that man's workplace is going to be good for public relations; is they by any chance that you should, umm, reconsider it, ma'am?" Miss Pauling reluctantly asked as her glasses were starting to slip from her frame, unaware that her employer was steaming and fuming a bit slowly. The Administrator turned around to face her assistant with only a stern yet nonthreateningly look in the former's eyes and said to the latter somewhat a bit fiercely, "nonsense; the only thing that they should reconsider upon is about asking me the wrong questions every now and then so the least they should do here is worry about their jobs for a second here." "Okay then, I understand ma'am…" the young woman squeamishly replied as she started to back away from her employer, "I'll see you later and let you know if anything changes…"

Of course, being that the supposed takeover was by far the most unexpected change to have ever swept the entire company ever since, it wasn't quite to simply just not ignore the whole considering that Helen had at best remained calm on the outside; but, she was still thinking throughout the time of the earlier conversation: so now it seems that was to be Alfred the general saying what they should and what not to do and his assistant Ms. Rainbow Smiley as his mindless grinning lapdog. However, the Administrator had seen that thinking was for the stupid ones and that the brainy ones use things like inspiration and of what godsend for now it was the beeping of machinery in the very room along with the pulsating heartbeat in her body making of (en)harmonic music that came to her aid and seen at once what to do. There was a window open with the stereo on where she was able to find that both sides were finally stocked up, ready, willing, and able. "Five… four… three… two… one…" Helen had echoed into the microphone in front of herself as the bell had rung loudly for the men to hear in perfect synchronization, now sending them out with guns blazing as music to her ears since that it was extremely clear that the biggest mission of their lives has just started and they knew what they need to do with all this; still, little did any of them would truly know is that it would practically be their very last to partake in considering the details of it all: how much any of them will earn from it and how much any of them will pay for it.

* * *

No matter, Dominique was now outside of that humble abode in the sunlight with some keys and a washrag in his possession walking over to a nearby riding lawnmower nearby the sidewalk; seeing the sweat induced glare from his eyes, it was proving to be a tedious job for him concerning his body at all. When the penguin finally got there, he'd checked the tires make sure that there was enough pressure to go around for the job along with the belts that were tested for damages and tightness. Soon he got on where the pedals were and pushed the clutch in on the same pedal the brake was located, making sure that it was put in neutral gear before turning up the ignition with the keys; then, he went to the carport for some well-deserved shave as the engine chugged slowly to life (luke)warmly. A brief minute or two later, Dominique burst from the shade with wooden stilts long enough to reach the pedals but short enough to simply comfort him as he'd returned to the lawnmower, setting the deck down where the blade are for it was needed prior to starting time; afterwards, he gotten back up on the seat and aligned those stilts to be on the pedals without pressing down upon them and underneath his stubby feet very gently. The orange penguin then placed his hand onto the gear after pressing down on the clutch and switched it to the first gear he had seen: one that was illustrated with a picture of a tortoise next to the hare; now, he was ready to go on with it already as he was told to.

Whether or not that the living room floor was swept or at least no matter how many times it was swept in the past, it would practically prove to be somewhat by far a difficult task to be bestowed upon him; of course, if it were shifted into a higher gear, then that would practically just make things worse than ever. Dominique was perhaps a short and stubby figure of both standing height and sitting height altogether generally speaking to just simply do this kind of task in particular but that did not mean that he was completely stupid enough to make a mistake on the first go anyway. Even though that it was hard to simply perform the fortnightly act of cutting the grass with a lawnmower to ride in on, that did not deter the orange penguin to just call it quits and turn in for the day at most nor would it convince him to go sweep the floor first and do this later on in the afternoon at least. At first, he did have some trouble going around in a geometrically shaped perimeter aligned within the front yard since it has put him at somewhat of a disadvantage from the get-go but the second time around has shown some form of improvement whatsoever as he'd repeated the same thing off the unbeaten path; soon, the third time around has proven to be quite the charm now that the brilliant green was trimmed down to a satisfactory height for everyone. Maintaining control and dominancy over the blazing red hot lawnmower, Dominique simply smelled the triumphant cut grass fermenting roundabout as whatever had entered into the path of it came out as remnants of their former selves: weeds, blades, and even sticks of any shape and size weren't spared at all. Soon, the orange penguin simply went around and around the remainders of bladed grass so quickly, they were instantly all gone in a flash, a sense of victorious relief now in his possession to cherish and treasure seeing that he'd was now free to return the lawnmower back from whence it came: the carport to be precise.

He returned back out into the sunlight once more noiselessly this time to look at the front yard for one last time with the smell still about and a gleam in his eye before returning back inside to rest up for a while; however, the moment he had parked on the couch, he flipped the switch of the remote to find a male humanly figure pop up onscreen: he was a white brunette with blue eyes matching the suit and tie that was worn on him as the latter's name 'HANK ANCHORMAN' was shown on display to be read. The brunette human then spoke "good morning America and welcome to the Porkbelly News with me, Hank Anchorman; today's top story is right here in Porkbelly itself: this just in, the calm community living down by on the west coast has been driven into a rude awakening to find its citizens shocked as people are slowly starting to deal with the aftermath of a devastating attack against the during the hours of breakfast this Friday's morning. As of yet, some details have been released about the attack and little to no proof has claimed no responsibility, except that the attack took place between two supposed rival criminal factions on one of the tracks as stray gunshot had pierced through a nearby school bus from Porkbelly Junior High School leaving out on a supposed school field trip. The attack took place at around 9:35AM Local Pacific Standard Time leaving but a few reliable witnesses and the entire board of education in severe chaos and disarray; however, revelations as to the supposed professionalism of the attack struck a heavy blow when the identities of the attackers and sighting were hampered by an attack made by computer hackers on the databases about a half hour later. The violent shootout has claimed the life of bus driver Tanner St. John whom was stuck in the head and injured at least three students: Jonathan Test, Mitchell Randalls, Cecila Blakely. Little is known about the possible motives of the attack except that they're traveling on the Union Pacific Railroad in an eastwardly direction; therefore, police and law officials here are warning people traveling, commuting, and/or living in the states of California, Nevada, and Arizona that if hearing faint gunshots or bullets whistling past you dangerously without harm nearby on the railroad tracks faraway, you're strongly urged to run to a safe distance as fast as possible. One thing is certain here ladies and gentlemen: the term 'rail gun shooter' here has now taken a senselessly dark meaning today as a bleak morning hangs over Porkbelly…"

Rather than feeling concern or melancholy from hearing this sudden newscast on the television screen, Dominique felt a bit enlightened as he was trying to control his stifling snickering a bit hard. "Heh heh heh heh heh heh…" the orange penguin wheezing from his mouth, surrendering to his emotion with little resistance about what he had considered funny a bit, "Anchorman: what a shitty name…" "What's so shitty about it?" another voice had interjected that made him jump; it was Sanzo whom had entered the room with a glare in the amethyst eyes. Sweating a bit, Dominique had simply answered the blonde's sudden question without hesitation, "you know Hank Anchorman: it sounds shitty to me that someone has that stupid name based on their job occupation; I mean, it sounds so fucking redundant to me." "True, I can agree with that as well; still, you have one last job left to do for the day before you're officially through," the man said to the orange penguin sternly before the former started to return to the room, "oh, and no midday snacking, ya hear?" "Yes sir," Dominique whimpered to Sanzo, wiping the forehead free of sweat from the yard work and the surprise injunction from the latter that had coagulated with one another as relief that for some reason he wouldn't feel the slightest bit connected to it whatsoever even though it wasn't the case.

* * *

Speaking of the word "case", way up north in the city that never sleeps which is called Old New York (that was once called New Amsterdam), the workers of 4Kids were having another one of those afternoon meeting where they and Alfred R. Khan resided at the penthouse view; perhaps, it was clear that mealtime was officially over for some weird reason somehow. As the portly executive sat there brooding with slouching villainy, Miss Smiley stood up from her seat and asked her employer, "Lord Khan, remember when you've asked us for a way to destroy Japanese animation since One Piece?" "Oh sure, I remember that time…" Khan answered calmly before shifting his demeanor to a more serious one, "that and how it had gotten taken away from us!" "Well, you should be happy to find that we have founded another way to mess it up by simply creating a games division to do just that…!" the businesswoman countered unabashed brightly. Calming back down to his normal mood, the executive said, "splendid, we all love video games especially ones like Team Fortress." "Uhm, yeah…" another businessman, a flashy yet rotund one, "Lord Khan, we have a new television show coming on called 'When Cicadas Cry' or as they call 'Higurashi no Naku Koro ni' in their language; yeah, we go there: it's this typical story of boy meets girl in a festival where murderous things happen for some reason…" "Yeah, yeah we're all aware of it; now, tell me how we can make it evil?" Khan interrupted with a question. Unhindered by that statement, the dwarfish one had answered pulling a remote from out of his body, "maybe I should just show you: we have the beta which we've snatched from YouTube…" "What do you mean by that…?" the portly executive spoke surprised by this action, "you guys have made the movie?" "We did but we spent most of all our money on Yu-Gi-Oh! 5Ds which was so awesome so we had to make but only a three minute trailer," the rotund employee answered standing up straight as he pressed a button on the remote that pulled down a screen set from the ceiling, causing many people to turn their heads to it in wonder.

Soon, the room was dimmed as the blinds then shielded the windows from the sunlight in order to make sure that total darkness was unsullied and shaped like itself; then, the screen came on as soon as the dwarfish one pressed another button displaying something: it was a family of trees that wanted to be haunted, proof that it was a forest with the music background resembling a trip into it. The scene then transitioned to a brunette boy in an academic uniform with a baseball bat over his shoulder and a satchel on the left side of his waist walking down a trail when suddenly he'd stopped to find himself hiding behind a tree; the reason why is what made him turn from behind it: it was gingerly girl with blue eyes wearing a similar kind of uniform carrying a large orange popsicle supposedly following him down that road. Somewhere between amazed and shocked here, the boy then commented to himself, "wow, I wished I had a popsicle…" He poked his head back out again to see if she was following him only to find that she was gone somehow, making him feel surprised and fearful until… "Hi Casey…" a girly greeting was heard nearby the boy named so, turning around to find that the girl from before had suddenly appeared from behind smiling friendly, confirming those suspicions, "how are you?" "Rachel, where have you been…?" Casey spoke to her shockingly as he was surprised by her sudden appearance. Rachel answered him calmly, "I can't tell you; it is a secret…" "But where did you get that popsicle from…?" the boy then asked her inquiringly demanding such a simple answer pointing at that icy treat, "I want one…!" "Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha; well, Casey, I got it from helping to set up the fiesta," Rachel answered Casey, causing the audience to jump up a bit. Understandably shocked, the boy then countered, "what fiesta? I am going to that fiesta now…"

The audience that was watching it all was starting to get confused as they soon watched onscreen Casey find himself running away from two guys deep within forest while breathing arduously in hopes of outrunning them only for one of them to catch up and grab him by the strap, causing the former to turn around and arm himself with a steel bat all while hearing island music in the background now. "Rob thinks that Casey is going play baseball with them," Rob exclaimed unaware of what the others were interpreting, "what do you think" "Get out my way; I'm going to a fiesta!" the boy yelled at the two, keeping his eyes on them so that they wouldn't try anything else to get closer to them; however, the former had failed to realized in time that another man, presumably a part of the group came up from behind and started to strike the boy with the bat. As soon as the man did so, Casey woke up in bed somewhere in a room and placed his hand at the back of his head, still feeling the pain from earlier as it was clear that perhaps the encounter earlier had left him in a coma for some period of time; then, he'd heard a girl's voice presumably considering otherwise, "you were having a bad dream, Casey." "This doesn't make any sense at all; the guy just got hit on the head earlier…!" Rainbow Smiley had exclaimed as she whispered to Khan somewhat irately within the audience, "how could he be having a bad dream?" "Hi, Rachel," the boy in the television greeted as he cocked his head over to find the girl he'd met in the forest earlier sitting next to him now dressed in a snow white beret with a matching shirt and a purple bow place in front of it. Rachel said to Casey brightly, "we were worried that you'd miss the fiesta…"

"Okay guys, this is it; you're gonna like the part here, sir…" the dwarfish employee commented to his employer with expectation as they all still watch the characters on screen, "now this is where Mion or should I say Millie comes in so just watch." "I didn't miss it?" was all that the schoolboy responded somewhat relieved to hear it from her when his eyes perked to the sound of the door opening up. Now even though that Casey fixed his eyes on Rachel, the former still paid attention to the entrant's greeting, "yo, dog…!" "Millie?" the boy then heard the other girl's voice, "why…?" "Well, I forgot to bring the tacos so I asked her to bring them over," Rachel answered Casey's question, possibly explaining what had prompted it all. Soon another girl, presumably Millie, entered the room dressed in a yellow shirt with a bag over her left shoulder touching her light green hair and perhaps a white sweater tied around her waist over her pants, "what's up, homies; fill me in on the 411, chill? Rachel, the piñata is chilling downstairs…"

"Yay, a party!" the stout businessman shouted in the audience, "Rob likes parties!" "We can play with it after we eat the tacos then," the ginger said, happy to hear what the green hair girl said. Looking at the two girls stupefied, the boy had asked "there's a piñata; why can't we play now?" "Heh-heh, old man," Millie responded lightheartedly to him, "you gotta chow down on tacos first; what kind of tacos do you like? Just take it easy, dude; I'll feed you one right now and you'll dig it. Relax, dude; just giving you some nourishin' tacoage." "Is there cheese…I'm lactose intolerant?" Casey screamed as he watched the green haired girl pull out a taco from her bag while Rachel held his arms to keep him from struggling any further. Deaf to the scrambling boy's pleas, Millie responded to them, "don't remember; we'll find out man!" "Don't do it!" Casey screamed helplessly as he saw the taco coming closer to him, "I can't have any dairy products!" "Uh huh…" were just the only two words to come out from the girl as her eyes were squinted.

The audience was then treated to scene where a policeman was in the background nearby a white van saying into his walkie-talkie, "some people who are lactose intolerant can go to the emergency room." "Hey I saw a dead body right there!" Sir Paid-A-Lot shrieked in fear as he cringed at the horrific sight of what had appeared to be an old woman's carcass right before the set cut back to where the schoolboy was struggling frantically, "why is it even there?" "It's totally delicious…!" Millie chirped as she started to hand the taco over to Casey's hand so that he should be fed with it despite his protests. Looking dead with his indigo eyes, he'd screamed to them at the top of his lungs for anyone in particular to hear, "NOOOOOO; IT'S GOT CHEESE…!" "Wait, if Casey's supposed to be lactose intolerant, then how come they are trying to feed him tacos?" Rainbow Smiley had exclaimed to the rotund gentleman angrily, "what are you trying to push on us?" "I don't like the looks of this…" the foppish one cried turning his head away from it all. Unfazed by her statement, the dwarfish businessman replied, "just relax, you'll thank me for this you know…" "Arriba!" was the one word that had sounded off such reckless abandon from Casey as he started to destroy whatever life the piñata or two had as he started tearing up the place, unaware that he was also thrashing the life(blood) of two people nearby that were presumably sleeping; then, when all was said and done, he panting standing in the epicenter of the destruction he had conspired in shouting, "yay for piñatas; whoo!"

Soon, the video had finally ended as the television set retract while the room brighten up to its original state thanks to the sunlight itself that was there peering from the outside. "Hmm… well it certainly is incompetent but we're missing something; what are we missing people?" Khan inquired, piqued by what had been shown in a mere three minutes from the past. The rotund gentlemen then answered quizzically, "a budget?" "Umm…" his employer spoke to him, "yes but no…" "Talent?" the dwarfish one answered again. Still, Khan once more responded, "yes but no…" "Some high morale…?" Sir Paid-A-Lot joined in but with equal success as he'd pulled out some crepes, "Crepe Suzette…?"

"What company do you work for?" their employer had asked the rotund gentlemen sternly. The dwarfish one had answered normally, "4Kids Entertainment…" "Of course you do," Khan beamed at the obviously correct answered, "and what does that mean for all of us, sir?" "Family-friendly–" were only the two words that the rotund one had the chance to peep at just before he'd heard a slam rain down upon a table thanks to a fist belonging to his employer for everyone inside to hear it. As soon as the noise had instantly died down, Khan echoed, "EXACTLY; it's not enough that the shows we have licensed are now that, they have to be evil as well! Send in my evil HENCHMAN: Bart Ender and Dmitri Russell, teach this goblin the real meaning of working at 4Kids Entertainment!" "NO…; LORD KHAN PLEASE!" the dwarfish one screamed as he'd started to jump out of his seat and run away when he saw them emerged inside pleading for dear life, "WE'LL MAKE IT MORE EVIL, I PROMISE…!" "Oh, hell no; this little gremlin's gonna wish he has never been born!" the blond henchman in a bartender garb snarled as the dark skinned bear like colleague grabbed ahold of the dwarfish one. Glancing fearfully at his captor's blank face and Bart's angry face, the rotund businessman then turned to the businesswoman for what little help she would extend pleading, "SMILEY, PLEASE SAVE ME…!" Rainbow Smiley looked at her fingernails undeterred by the screaming as if she was totally unwilling to do so while the rest had stared at the sight in genuine fear of what was going on: Dmitri preparing to toss the captive over to the blond henchman; when he did, the dwarfish one was thrown into the path of a black shoe that had set it all off course from here.

Soon, the rotund businessman was kicked into the window(pane) for everyone to watch as his started to fade as he'd plummeted to his death when it had finally ended with a loud metallic thud; now, currently at peace, their employer then turned to her and called, "Miss Smiley, this 'Team Fortress 2' game, how's it going?" "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh… great!" Miss Smiley said somewhat nervously to her employer, "fantastic…!" "Is it… EEEEEEEVILLLL…?" Khan edged towards the businesswoman as if he was going to lunge at her threateningly. Unfazed and still standing, Miss Smiley said to him, "oh, absolutely!" "I hope so, Smiley for your sake…" Khan threatened fiercely before he had wiped himself with a cloth and had calmed down, "because if it's not evil, you know what's going to happen… and by happen you'll be killed or at least seriously injured so you know, just make sure it's evil…"

* * *

Author's Note: Well, there you have it: another end to that chapter from us, PenGator3!

Sanzo: Not quite, I heard that there was Johnny Test in there; care to explain to me what that was all about?

Dominique: Simple, my dear friend Sanzo: Johnny Test is just a two-bit hack who rips off of Dexter's Lab and disgraces the real Johnny Quest with a fucking passion with his Eurasian-American blood in his veins; also, his pet dog's all full of shit, his sisters swoon over some gayass hotbod like yaoi fans, their father cooks nothing but meatloaf, the military is stupid, and they all live in a town where people don't realize there is a talking dog! What is this, Motherfucking Scooby Motherfucking Dooby Motherfucking Doo?

Sanzo (sees Dominique all angry and tries to calm him down): Take it easy, Domnio; I hate them too but even I have standards. Oh, and I also notice a bit of Higurashi in there; do you watch that show?

Dominique (cooled off now): No, not at all man; that was just filler dude so it's all cool...

Sanzo: Anyway, I hope you catch us in our Yin Yang Yo story being invited as special guests here; but for now, **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW...**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note:** Hello, this is PenGator3 with a new piping hot chapter of **4Kids Does Team Fortress 2** here.

Sanzo: Hot, ehh? The only thing I find hot here is your leather pants!

Dominique: Jokes on you, Sanzo; I don't even wear any underwear at all. (a song pops up out of nowhere as Dominique starts to dance)

I'm not wearing underwear today  
No, I'm not wearing underwear today  
Not that you probably care  
Much about my underwear  
Still none the less I gotta say  
That I'm not wearing underwear today

Girl: Getta job

Dominique: Thank you, honey; anyways, onto the disclaimer: **Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve!**

* * *

Now, Porkbelly was the place where the initial impact of the mercenaries' competition bore it's brunt of the attack particularly as such this morning. The weather outside was not frightful for the temperature was so delightful, it didn't matter where people go even with the presence of white snow; of course, it was still cold. The golden sun was still shining on the creations of civilizations, looking down on them all with a sad outlook even though it was free from the snow white clouds. Buildings stood up tall and proud while roads and streets bowed down before them. A few cars and a bicycle or two passed by signifying an urban jungle complete with the hustle and bustle from midday crowds. Somehow, these innocent days that was once more relaxed in the modern days of right now and then was stripped away along with its purity as it was dead quiet that late morning as a bright orange minivan driven pulled up in the open yet quiet side of the road to somewhere (seemingly) important: a hospital. What had made it a moment filled with such dread was the fact that at least four people and a dog stood out as their presence started to emerge from the automobile; somehow it seemed to be a reasonable conjecture that they were but only a family, serving as some sort of a brilliantly logical explanation for why that van was here.

The identity of the driver was revealed to be a man of an uptight stature and background. He wore a sweater that had the color of the brilliant green over the cheese color tee shirt that were both on the wearer's torso as such. The man had blonde hair on his head just like Sanzo except that it was of a lighter shade and wavy, in contrast to the mood that was currently in place concerning the sudden change of events since that fateful morning. He had on a decent pair of pants that were brown like the beautiful earth on his legs and black loafers that resembled the colors of the void itself on his feet. The man's solid irises were almost akin to that of being made from the vast and magnificent ocean but filled with sorrow and anger mixed together like a milkshake that brings all the boys to the yard. There was also a fair share of freckles on his otherwise clear and vibrant face even though that no one attempted to care at all anyways.

On the other side of the man was a passenger and the identity turned out to be a woman that shared the same respectable background the former had. She wore a uniform that was blue just like the driver's iris except that it was darker along with a matching skirt worn to a hilt. The woman had brunet(te) hair on her head like the color of the man's pants except that it was of a lighter shade and clearly sharp like a girl scout cookie. Right around her neck was a pearl necklace that remained resting below a fire red necktie wrapped comfortably in place all at once as well. The woman's irises were made of teal but filled with shock and outrage mixed together with the potential to move heaven and earth as a power to unravel the cause of such dread. She also had been wearing some earrings that were dipped in the same color as the necktie and her high heels on her feet.

Then, the attention was now focused on two teenagers behind those adults whom aside from being a pair of redheaded girls in lab coats had their fair share of physical differences. For starters, one of them had blue eyes shining like of sapphire gemstones protected by square bifocals while the other had a bright(er) emerald in her irises framed by a pair of crescents. Secondly, one was wearing her hair to be straight as an arrow with a starry barrette on top whereas the other was long and curly as it can be even with the crescent barrette in place. Next, the starry redhead had a baby blue shirt with a star in the epicenter just matching it above with a black skirt whereas the curly redhead had a yellow shirt with a moon on it matching her barrette with some baggy jeans. Lastly, the starry girl had Mary Janes on her feet whereas the moony one wore sneakers instead.

Lastly, there was just a brown dog that stepped out of the minivan right next to the girls for an obvious reason; little was known about it anyway since it was just at that.

Nevertheless, after such a frantic frenzy lasting for what had appeared to be at least standing that the edge of forever, they all had reached the destination which the orange minivan brought them to. The people then rushed into the building with desperation filling the system that had belonged to them all at once, a classical work of art that is free to use by anyone as they please. With the paperwork in place and rational logic being used delicately, all that could be done was to bide some little bit of time in the waiting room time that could be useful for him to try and clear things up; true to its term, there were many others that had a fair share of misfortunes prior to arrival. The party of five just sat there impatiently in the waiting room as their weary eyes were filled with dread with the identical question brewing in his mind.

Within almost a half-hour later, an answer was just around the corner as the indigo rabbit had glanced up when the doctor came out. The individual was dark skinned like the dead of night itself but had no intention fixated on defying the earliest code set by the pioneering ancestors that wore same brand name job. The doctor had golden eyes yet they were protected by crystal shaded eyewear over them; however, a tiresome stare that the people had was shared as well. A white lab coat was draped over the torso along with a ferric pendant and undershirt from beneath only buttoning the upper body as it revealed a dark brown sarong rendering its gender to be female. She even had some silvery hair that showed to be a bit resembling of the former color it had used to be in the past despite looking overall vibrant. Her hands were wrapped in a rubbery cherry grip as it had been matching the boots on her feet very well.

"Where's my boy?" the auburn businesswoman asked with just only fear overtaking her overall emotions all at once this instant. The doctor had then responded, feeling dazed and confused by that tone, "huh?'' "Did you not hear me say WHERE'S MY BOY?" the brunette had soon raised her voice with anger for everyone else to hear her loud and clear, "his name is Johnny Test, he's my son; look it up!" "I'll just explain what happened," the doctor had cringed with fear along with the others that are present nearby. It was clearly evident that the auburn businesswoman had seemed to have started to lose control of the situation and responded bluntly and darkly with one simple word, "good…!" For a while, almost everyone seemed to have looked at them with shock and awe like this were but a movie they were all starring in, a drama to be precise that was unscripted and impromptu like life itself imitating art and vice versa; afterwards, it got quiet once again, allowing the doctor to show them the room that the aforementioned patient was in nearby. "Do you wanna see him?" the doctor spoke after pausing for a second before stopping at the door and opening it, "he's right in this room."

The door was opened, and the identity of the patient was revealed: a little boy wearing only but a mere hospital gown laying neatly on a stretcher, sleeping in heavenly peace. The eyes were closed as if he was unconscious; in fact, it was perhaps obvious the whatever Johnny had suffered was perhaps with only an utter lack of mirth and an abundance of extreme displeasure. More descriptively, he too was also blond like the man in front leaving the people wanting to cry while seeing him like this.

"Now would be a good time to explain what happened," the man had spoken placing his hand on the woman's shoulder out of sympathy as she started crying softly at once, "is my boy alright?" "Your son's alive... barely; but, still alive," the old doctor squeamishly explained to the two adults whom were present and accounted for at once. Hearing this had made the younger woman wail emotionally and instinctually, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BARELY?" "W-well, allow me to explain," and the good doctor did, "some kids who claimed to be Johnny's classmates came in with your son just earlier what I could tell from he was shot at, riddled with glass, and trampled; other words, he lost a lot of blood from the ordeal.'' "W-what; just by riding the bus?'!' the younger woman yelped as her brain was racked with shock and outrage upon hearing the grim details of it all at once. The doctor undauntedly continued nonetheless, "actually, their teacher had explained that when he heard to see what the commotion was going on about, he remembered seeing a passing train or two manned by a group of male sharpshooters firing their guns at each another with reckless abandon in front of them and how some stray bullets ended up killing their driver and wounding three of his students; so, the man drove over here and told us to call you. Surely, I've seen and heard of reports involving kids getting injured and killed by gun related accidents now and then on the news; but, I've never seen a kid hurt this badly especially by a bunch of men. I just don't even understand what's up with the world we live in nowadays; people used to say that Porkbelly was just a quiet neighborhood but now it seems there's no such things as a quiet neighborhood anymore now.''

"Th-th-th-those men… THEY'RE DEAD MEN!" another voice had hollered with anger over hearing about who were the cause of the boy's misfortune at once that was shrilly than the two women that were present. Noticing the source of such anger coming from the moony redhead nearby himself, the blond man had meekly pleaded to her briefly, "Marianne, please calm down." "Oh really," the named redhead Marianne sarcastically shouted with justified fury, "IT SEEMS THAT MOM DIDN'T CALM DOWN EARLIER!" "Well, look on the bright side Mary: at least Johnny is still alive," the starry redhead looked at the other one with fear but nevertheless placed her hand on the latter's shoulder valiantly. Each moment of sight and sound intermingling together was like witnessing an act of barbarism and being unable to do anything else no matter what, causing Marianne or in this case Mary to say, "Who... whoever did this... WILL GO TO HELL!" "Normally, I wouldn't think of the same thing, but," her father commented as he walked over towards the bed and examined his son all over, "my boy." "Father... I can't look at this anymore!" the starry redhead said with sorrow and pity with tears welling up in her big blue eyes. The mentioned patriarch turned to his daughters noticing tears forming in her eyes, "you don't have to; but, I just hope he won't be put into a coma."

"Mr. Test,'' the doctor spoke calmly to the man at once before she started to leave the room, "he'll be fine, you just need to pray and wait." "Understood; just do everything you can," said Mr. Test stared down sadly to meet the others' tear filled gazes quickly like they were bulletproof windows in an aquarium. The doctor responded to the family, "don't worry, your son's in our care, but I do suggest getting him some bed rest and fluids soon right after he checks out; in fact, I will make sure that this hospital will keep in touch if any new developments ever come up at once." "I'll keep that in mind," the father said before turning to his family once again, "let's go."

Afterwards, they reached the family van as Mr. Test started it up and took the driver's seat once again. The wife sat next to her husband while the girls and their dog followed afterwards in the backseat from whence they came, the motor revving back to life as jet black carbon monoxide flowed out of the tailpipe and entered into the fresh air once more. With only one foot on the brake pedal, the man had put the gear shift from park to reverse, slowly pulling out from the parking space and onto the street; then, the brakes were stomped on again as the gear shift was now switched from reverse to drive. As a result, the wheels were in motion once again as Mr. Test drove his family out of the hospital as quickly as possible; needless to say, the entire family was asking a lot of questions in their minds concerning Johnny in the light of recent events.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, there you have my friends: another chapter of **4Kids Does Team Fortress 2** well served to you perfection; to be fair, that was kind of short but at least the quota here has been made already.

Sanzo: Hmph...

Dominique: What's wrong?

Sanzo: Oh, it's nothing; I'm just tired anyway...

Dominique: Yeah, me too; let's go to bed already. Until then, **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author's Note:** Yo yo yo! This is **PenGator3** with another chapter of 4Kids Does Team Fortress 2 up and at 'em!

Sanzo (rolls his eye): Really, is it just me or somehow the crap you are speaking is turning into a cliche?

Dominique (glares at Sanzo): It's just you...

Sanzo: I hope we cut to chase and get straight to the action shortly; after all, Lordriochi says the story needs soon and fast.

Dominique: Whateves, let's get to the disclaimer and cut to the story already: Team Fortress 2 belong to Valve!

Sanzo: You do realize that this will be the last time we'll be doing disclaimers you know...

Dominique: Exactly; as a matter of fact, this should be our official policy for our fanfics.

Sanzo: ...

* * *

At attention, it seems to be quite obvious that unsurprisingly such short notice was now at due, instantly being paid for to another part of the western seaboard itself, somewhere that was absolutely (in)conspicuous. The climate, despite being austere proved to be quite nice outside with the golden sun now rising and shining up into the sky today in place of its nightly counterpart sibling, the silvery moon of the fallen brilliance that hid itself on the other opposite side of the wonderful world. Rather than the buildings standing up tall and proud or even the tracks laid bowing before them like the subjects of majestic royalty now off to fight in a fateful and worst of all ill-fated war, there was an observatory with a few satellites poking out of there with a road leading to it surrounded by a tall metal fence with a wooden sign standing upright outside it all reading "**AREA 51.1: DANGER!**" Despite this, the place itself was nearly uninhabitable it was as the environment itself overall was now in the triple digit heat (only until afternoon that is); in other words, the current temperature was perhaps more or less hotter now giving the typical thought of how fierce it would have simply felt if one stepped in the desert for a while.

Inside it all at once, there was by far irrefutable proof that all was not well at it may seem despite the fact that the environment was compared to a silent hill but ironically less scary; this was amplified by how the heart of the observatory contained many things. First, there were a large set of screens flourished with an abundance of persons, places, things, and even ideas on display closely monitored on a strict basis. Secondly, there was a large round table capable of seating many people of all generations and ages whatsoever be if civilian, citizen, or soldier; even so, it would be main place for even the most loyal knights to hold discussions with their royal king. Then there was but a set of tall metal drawers standing in the background holding ambiguous amounts of whatever could be called confidential in its own way as its owners would see fit to do so. A scented mixture of big business and grand disappointment waivered around like an exotic dancer using her allure to please and quiet down the rowdy masculine crowd.

Out of all the people in attendance at once currently so far, the attention was now focused on two men beside each other at once whom aside from being a pair of attendants in black of the same stature and shape had their fair share of physical differences. For starters, one of them had bright platinum skin that was shining like the amalgamation of a thousand suns from countless galaxies abroad whereas the other had a shiny cupric bronze that bright like the stars that were lost upon the sounding of the daybreak's bell. Secondly, one was wearing his hair to be blond like Sanzo's hair as well and light like Mr. Test's hair in a neatly applied style whereas the other was black like the clothing itself, a silent night to be precise yet in the same style as well no less. Lastly, one had a nose that had the shape of a geometrical right angle underneath his sunglasses while the other had a triangular appearance with round ends instead of the very angles themselves underneath.

In the middle was an army general whose placing seemed right smack in the very middle of the two at once clad in a light olive green as proof of the garments that were worn by the individual in particular. The man had a cap with a visor sticking out of it and a golden eagle placed above it all, even neatly as so to the point where it was covered up so that his hair was nowhere to be seen by the people at all. His nose was pointing out downward to the floor yet it had remained as straight like an arrow to project such rigid posture, poise, and grace as proof of the uniform's significance and importance alike altogether. The general's chin was as round and soft like a ball compared to the keen and edged ones that the men in black had on their faces. The padding on his matching jacket was rife with stars with three on each side resting on his shoulders while the cufflinks were made of gold just like the eagle on his hat. The tetragonal laurels that were accumulated in a cluster on the upper left side of his torso were shown as proof of the many immeasurable tales of progress that all had his name on it, from humble beginnings to the modern days. The loafers on his feet were buffed to look as elegant as a black luster soldier heralding the envoy of the beginning.

"Is everyone accounted for now?" were the first words that the very general himself said for the many people inside with him to hear loud and clear at once in a booming voice. In a mere instant, the two men in his presence all said to him clearly unhesitant and free of fear whatsoever, "yes, sir." "Okay then; let us commence debriefing…" the general said as everyone sat down and look at the screen in front, "I want to start off by apologizing for having you all brought here at such short notice but it seems that perhaps that a great crisis has fallen upon America right here in our homes; in any case, it's time we get to the situation at hand already: ladies and gentlemen, it seems reasonable to believe that the rivalry between the clandestine organizations of both Reliable Excavation and Demolition and Builders League United has now reared its ugly head. Of course, we should be already be aware that many of those employers inside these organizations have a history of violence ranging from aggravated assault and battery with a deadly weapon to full-on first degree premeditated murder amongst other crimes including jaywalking and high treason. Soon afterwards, the syndicates have waged a full scale supposed indiscriminately aggressive war over territories against one another that was hidden from the public dating back to be all the way back from the middle nineteenth century to today. Well, about approximately two hours ago, they have made an appearance using locomotives on dual tracks and struck Porkbelly; unfortunately for us, it seems that the speed of the attack has passed by us in a lightning bolt speed, practically reducing any possible chance to give chase and put an end to their violent spree. The desert rules out a ground offensive due to the effects of magnetic storms have on our radar and tracking systems seeing that this is currently the time of year where thunderstorms are commonplace to pop up at any time. To add further to this catastrophe, about eighty minutes ago a roadblock setup by the California Highway Patrol tried to terminate the rampage confronting them head on seconds before destruction; based on the quickness of such abandon, we believe that the weapons used by the mercenaries have been perhaps of a superior quality. We can all say without a doubt that by taking it into account those people have unfortunately rendered the defending law enforcement officials' firepower absolutely useless; with this in mind, we can agree to send the neighboring Nevada Highway Patrol our military capability to assist the national law officials in their defense efforts. Considering our history with our disuse of such weaponry, it is perhaps reasonable clear to all of us that if they're to be of any use whatsoever, then perhaps it's the only way currently to bring those mercenaries to justice lest the other states will suffer gravely."

After making a declaration in a calm but firm tone, the general finished and was met with overall agreement from the others regardless of whatever reason they had that had compelled them to do this whatsoever. "Uh sir, I have a question here: shouldn't we send the Test kids over to confront the likes of them like we usually do?" the white blond asked the general quizzically earning him a pound on the shoulder from the black colleague in a mere instant. As the agent was rubbing his shoulder that swelled in a throbbing pain, he had been given a firm reason why this simple question was met this way albeit verbally, "it's because of two reasons, Mr. Black: Johnny was one of the people caught in the crossfire at the time of the attack so he had to be taken to the hospital until he can recover; plus, seeing that these girls are practically upset by this ordeal they're going through it would practically be wise not to call them at such short notice for help." "Point taken…" the general complemented on this answer, "the fact that this kind of thing usually never happens at all is kind of scary considering that these people practical have an arsenal worth taking over a tri-county area or two but no qualms about harming anyone around them; THE WHOLE THING MAKES ME FEEL SICK TO MY STOMACH!"

"At least we now know what separates us from them, right?" the dark-skinned agent spoke warmheartedly in a blind yet noble attempt to brighten the situation at hand only to be met with pairs of glowers from everyone around him. Not wanting to dwell on the simple comment that came from his bronzed page, the general rubbed his forehead and spoke clearly for everyone to hear what needed to be all said and done at once without raising his voice, "forgetting what they had been done earlier for a moment would be just as worse than simply allowing it, Mr. White, even though that something like this was such a long shot: a jillion to one to be precise out of all the countries in the world; in fact, this could be just as worse than perhaps that 'Millie Collins' movie I'd seen just in the last decade." "Truly it's agreed that such an act by such mercenaries from our own homeland is deemed a cowardly act of high treason; why, this is too high profile for any of us to handle!" said the copper toned agent who was name Mr. White, "this is even more worse than whatever scheme we had even thought of in our entire lives as government agents; this organization was meant for the defense against hostile extraterrestrials like that 'Art Arby' movie not one of those 'Speed McCool's Last Ditch' terrorists."

"Normally, my suggestion was to send out a few men of ours to follow them and strike back but for now we should wait until we get word about the men being captured when it will be complete," the general responded with a firm commanded tone in his stern voice and an outlook in his visage. Mr. Black soon then questioned his superior, "would it be okay that you should send either any one of us to even find, capture, and punish them?" "No, our past experiences will practically make things worse than it is thanks to its expectancy rate of failure to rise," he answered, "we'll have to wait and see until they stop at the next train yard nearby sooner or later before we ever get the chance to do that; in the meantime, we must up with some ways to keep the news from spreading throughout the rest of the country for civilians to get all panicky and what not." "Umm, sir shouldn't people be warned about it anyway concerning those armed men in question?" Mr. White inquired out of a sense of rational logic for his employer to hear clearly at once along with everyone else who was there. The general answered him quickly at once without hesitation, "don't worry about it; as far as I'm aware of that in an instant this detestable display of violence will cease at once when it all over here and there, when it will be… complete."

* * *

Meanwhile, it seemed quite clear that somewhere in another part of the country itself all had simply looked a bit too similar to the train yard where the mercenaries had departed from earlier before striking Porkbelly. The climate, despite being just the same as that desert proved to be quite fairly nice and tame with the same golden sun in place of the silvery moon thanks to the double digit. Rather than the buildings standing up tall and proud or even the tracks laid bowing before them like the subjects of majestic royalty now off to fight in a fateful and worst of all ill-fated war, there was an abundance of cacti regardless of shape and size that hadn't seem uncommon in the eyes of travelers due to the environment they were all in at once since the naissance of their subsistence. What was deemed an uncommon presence however, were the scores of tanks (pre)arranged in what had appeared to be the way a line of scrimmage is drawn on the football field as their cannons pointed in a specified direction like for some reason they now know where the enemy was going to arrive. Above them were but a()mass fleet of fully furnished helicopters hovering over them as the whirring of the rotors drowned out the screeching and squawking of the native vultures that waited for the next living being to collapse and feast upon its remains concentrated in that same direction.

The simple fact that such vehicles and aircraft were gathered accumulatively at once was grounds for automatically being considered uncommon wasn't without reason; in fact, it would all be too similar nonetheless compared to such current events in either a foreign or a domestic land. As such, a battle was about to commence shortly that was unannounced earlier by either the ragtag military or even the vague opposition yet nevertheless inevitable due to the tragedy that had occurred over back in Porkbelly; in fact, this was perhaps unknown to call it nothing compared to a war if there ever was one. Considering that the mercenaries were all veterans that had worked hard in past assignments, it was like that they'd knew the rules very well and studied the details of the mission very diligently yet unaware that this was just merely a simply front given to them by Helen herself: the real reason was that it was involving 4Kids and the takeover probably out of personal frustration and defiance; oddly enough, it seems like that aside from viewing each other as enemies they have yet to face a common denominator that could threaten to divide them by zero. Regardless, the countdown was starting to tick on down shortly for that there were at least a bit of uncertainty from the start about why she hadn't tell any of them about the whole thing sooner to the mercenaries whom would never know, for when no more of the seconds would be completely deprived, there would be nothing and they all were to face the first phase of the united opposition.

In the midst of the mobile weaponry was an officer and a gentlemen rolled into one person of a bright membrane whose placing seemed right in this very moment of it all at once clad in what had appeared to be a law enforcement uniform as an explanation for the presence of such artificial surroundings yet dark like a thief in the night. The man had a hat with a smooth-edged flat brim with an eagle in front just like the general but darker as is along with a metallic badge, even neatly as so to the point where it was covered up so that most of his hair was nowhere to be seen by the people at all. Still, his hair was there nevertheless dull and gray to serve as proof of the many immeasurable tales of progress that all had his name on it, from humble beginnings to the modern days. His nose was a bit somewhat shorter than the general yet it had the rigid posture, poise, and grace of the general in between the eyes that displayed a calm oceanic hazel that was earthbound like a (second) mother. The man's chin was as round and soft just like the general but had a somewhat flat edge and stayed in place like his nose. The matching shirt had a collar that was rife with stars with two on each side while the breast pocket displayed a similar badge just like the one on his hat. The man's khakis were complete with a duty belt that held it in place tightly but snugly containing many things attributed to the fitting job such as weapons, manacles and the means of communication along with everything else like the pricelessness of experience and diligence from days on end. The loafers on his feet were buffed to look as elegant as an accursed pearl being sought out in the sea by eccentric pirates with minds set on adventure and treasure.

"Sir…!" a voice echoed from nearby as the distinguished male turned to find a woman of a different complexion clad in an analogous regalia to be the source of it, "I just got this back from headquarters concerning the armed train conductors from earlier." "Okay, give it to me straight madam; I am sensing them to be over there in an instant…!" the commanding officer responded gruffly as a show of such impatient expectation of results. Pulling a makeshift scroll from her possession, she had unfurled it quickly but assiduously to reveal a map showing where they were as of now along with the environment surrounding their presence speaking, "Chief, as it is possible that the mercenaries we are facing off against are presumed to be potential domestic terrorists the whereabouts concerning them appear that they were last seen in Humboldt County shooting at one another with at least casualties spanning up to a total of twenty dead and seventeen wounded so far. It's perhaps obvious that these are the same men that have caused chaos in Porkbelly, California about two hours ago and that it's imperative that unless we stop them here from escaping Elko County Stateline, their rampage will continue on into Utah, then perhaps Wyoming, then Nebraska, following Iowa, and finally maybe stop at the Chicago metropolitan area; even if their pathway changes, it will all end in bloodshed nevertheless. Luckily with the military stockade put out in front of them, we can stand more than a chance against the likes of those monsters and maybe the nightmare will be over for now." "Hmm… to think I wouldn't be able to hear of this in my entire life; this is perhaps a nightmare indeed…" the man said as he removed his hat at once before continuing on, "a time like this for example makes wish that I should have never quit the California Highway Patrol."

Just as he was about to put his hat back on his head from before, the Chief had his auricles standing on endwise in reaction to the sounds from the distance of what he was quickly treated to other than the whining airfoils above: rather than the environment being the natural place for the sound of music it was a volley of salvo. The two individuals faced the source of the newfound din and see some clouds of dust within their visages rustling about like a stampeding herd of loose cattle; soon, that alarming image had turned into something else much more ominous within a small moment: it was _them_, the mercenaries that left their playground of destruction and are starting to leave the world in flames behind them. The Chief using a pair of binoculars in his possession now started to see the many menfolk in the locomotives charging onwards in their direction emerging from the dashing dust from further ago but what had really caught their attention was the fact that the gunfire was solely aimed and directed at each other. This was something that he could not even fathom judging by his age and the dearth of something like this: "why was this, a group of mercenaries fighting against each other with little to no regard for their lives along with those around them that made some form of what was deemed contact with them, unfolding before him?" was the question floating into his mind like a bryony out above the deep after being guided by the airstreams throughout the dying forest at autumn's end. Nevertheless, the fact that remains was that a battle was about to commence shortly and this was exactly no time to just simply stand idly by and watch as such horrors are committed by the likes of them when something could be done about it anyway. "Madam, I suggest you better get everyone into position quickly; I sense a storm coming along…" the man said as his aide took the order in heed for the maelstrom that was fast approaching.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope this hold you peeps 'til chapter eleven is produced at once; now, please excuse me while I come up with chapter thirteen for **_Re: Yin Yang Who? or Yin Yang Yo! Forever_** to be read by the long awaiting crowd.

Sanzo: Well you better go do it, right now while there's still time, I bet the crowd might be restless over it. (Sanzo sees the crowd in the distance)

Crowd (shouting vigorously): WE WANT MORE YIN YANG WHO! WE WANT MORE YIN YANG WHO! WE WANT MORE YIN YANG WHO!

Dominique (sweating): Okay, OKAY; WE'LL BRING YOU MORE YIN YANG WHO! Just please hang tight already!

Sanzo (smirks): Heh, for such a writer you seemed to suck at deadlines.

Dominique (sceaming): Just shut up and help me with the next chapter already.

Sanzo: Fine then; not getting any younger anyway so let's just hobble on back over.

Dominique: Okay... and to those reading the story, **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!** That's all we ask, okay...?


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Author's** **Note:** Hi, everybody; I'm Nancy O. Delffa and welcome to _"Elves Talking About People More Popular Than You."_ So who's the dynamic duo now with us on this episode, bursting into anywhere writing fanfictions about practically anything from the most epic shows to? Why it's **Shonen Sanzo** and **Dominique Amino** of **"PenGator3!" **Come on up, you guys...! (the audience cheered as the man and the penguin appear on the stage) Yes, it's them, the rising stars and veterans that are slowly but strongly taking this world by storm today with the power of fanfiction; now, last time we had appeared you were giving us a sneak peek of you're latest chapter from _**"Re: Yin Yang Who? or Yin Yang Yo! Forever"**_ before Yang had showed up and attacked you, is that correct?

Dominique: Well, Nancy, I would like to start off to say that yes it is true that we had done that so how was is?

Nancy: It's pretty surprising at best: on the one hand, it's highly detailed and you get to see what's going on here and there; but on the other hand, it's this dark and repetitive kind of movie that I would let my kids watch.!

Sanzo: But that's where it comes in: this is an alternative reality kind of show that rewrites what really happened for the sake of entertaining catharsis to gain closure for the time being here and there; plus, the kids are older, the city is new, and the lines are more dangerous

Smelfman: Now about this fanfic here, _**"4Kids Does Team Fortress"**_, we're surprised that you have been able to find some time in writing it; what caused you to come up with it...?

Sanzo: To tell you the truth, I had a writer's block that kept me from channeling my idea with Domino's first story and he came up with this thought that 4Kids was going to take over and buy out Team Fortress 2 from Valve; as a result, this story had came to life.

Dominique: That's right...!

Smelfman: And we're quite amused about that...

Sanzo: Indeed...

Smelfman: Just one question though: do you guys feel a bit safe that you're appearing again? After what Yang tried to do to you, you seemed to be taking a huge risk once more.

Dominique: Oh please, like what's the worst that could happen...?

Scout: THIS! (appears and swings a bat at Dominique): Take that, you lying stack of penguin blubber!

Sanzo: What the (bleep)?

Scout: YAHHHHHHHHH!

Nancy (turns to the elven cameraman and said frantically as the rampage between Scout and Sanzo begin): Cut to commercial, CUT TO COMMERCIAL!

* * *

For starters, it was rather clear that half an entire day had yet to pass since the morning after merely just begun a scant few hours ago; of course, it was already obvious to many of those living in that part of the world anyway. The weather though still nice outside seeing that the golden sun was still shining, was becoming brutal at worst on the account of having not a cloud in sight big enough to provide either shade or rain. The wooden buildings had been still standing up, tall and proud like the kings and queens of their feudal lands while the mine cart tracks from yesterday's confrontation lain down, bowing before them like the servile masses that arose. Though the basin's signature environment was perhaps a home to a few reptiles, the people in general wouldn't be any desperate to live in such. Somehow, the temperature was starting to get more or less hotter now, giving the fact of the account that the sun's position is angled correctly for its rays to beam down to the earth.

Nevertheless, the Administrator sat inside her room paying attention towards the wall of screen monitors that had all been activated, not just the two that were used to watch the band of brothers having their noontime meals. Rather than mere the display of those factions dressed in red and the others clad in blue in a cafeteria on separate monitors side by side, they were actually displaying a news report en masse. From a relatively safe distance, she was easily able to be aware that they were all aligned accurately to show a person's face onscreen anyway.

A male humanly figure had just popped up onscreen and he was a white man just like Hank Anchorman with blue eyes matching the suit, albeit with a fair share of physical differences. First off, the man had a tie that was red as a freshly ripened apple from an organic homestead that was pluck from the tallest tree around that part. Unfortunately, he was bald, devoid of any trace of hair on top of his head except for a pair of eyebrows that were gray as the gloomy Sunday that everyone had in their lives; however, he did have a mustache anyway though. A pair of glasses was placed on his face on top of his ro(t)und nose outlining the very eyes of his so as if he could stare right back at the world, weary and fearful; of course, given the situation, it is perhaps easily understandable at best.

After all, he was standing behind a white topped yellow edifice with a short podium upfront that had a microphone pointed in the former's direction, a sure sign that he was not alone (in the dark). "Friends, Family, Citizens, lend me your ears: in the normal course of events, this place has been the nervous system of our fair city which is Porkbelly…" the man started up timidly as he read an index card out, "as such, we have always felt the continuous anguish of numerous random occurrences that had went on. We have felt it in the skin of our bodies as a sudden major blizzard blew through a scant few years ago on a hot summer day. We have seen it from the whites of our eyes when the founding fathers had been brought back to life as the living dead. We have even tasted it on our tongues when we were assault with a blast of applesauce by a deranged prepubescent who had previously terrorized the streets with pork sausages. Not to mention that we have screamed it from the very voice boxes when a boy and his dog had almost destroyed a power plant. My fellow citizens, for the last few hours, the entire nation has seen for itself the state of union: weak yet resilient."

A small yet noticeable wave of applause was heard throughout as the bald speaker who within the vicinity then started to wipe the sweat off his brow before exhaling a long breath of carbon dioxide from the mouth; of course, that was a sign that whatever had been spoken was just only the beginning. "Indeed, you are…" Helen had snidely hissed straight(a)way at once as a stream of monoxide sprouted up from her slender stick while those pupils focused in on the man; of course, the latter never heard the former at all.

Despite this, the man then continued onward, "Today, we the people of Porkbelly had been now awakened to a new danger that is more potent than the likes of a meat-eating Venus flytrap and are called to defend the nation once more, this time within our own home. Our grief has turned to anger and then to resolution just like the same one almost eleven years ago on the other side of the homeland where many had watched their homes attacked from afar. Much like how we had brought our enemies to justice and vice versa, justice will be done once more."

The same wave of applause was heard yet again, albeit louder throughout as he then started to inhale a long breath of fresh air with a slight newfound burst of confidence that which he had never felt before. "Excuse me, ma'am…" another voice had echoed from the opposite of the Administrator's line of vision; it was belonging to that of another woman, Miss Pauling standing at the doorway, "do you have a minute?" "If this is about what's happening right now, Miss Pauling, I already know about it…" the disgruntled Helen answered as she turned the chair efferent of the televisions to face her subordinate. Barely fazed by her employer's response, the younger individual spoke up clearly, "actually, I was wondering if we should carry out with the escape plan just in case the authorities figure out about the whole thing." "You leave it to me as always, Miss Pauling…!" the administrator shot back a bit indignantly but lowly enough to be calmly heard throughout the room, "as far as everyone is concerned, no one knows anything about where they came from…!" "Understood, ma'am…" Miss Pauling sighed as she retreated away from Helen at once, no longer disturbing the latter and the leisure time with the former's presence whatsoever.

* * *

Now, there was a small house that was surrounded in an open field of whiteness within the fair Porkbelly standing only two floors tall with high and mighty color. The abode was blatantly bombarded in a brilliant block of bulky bleached blank bloodlessness. The hip roof sloped down slightly on all four corners in a steep pitched gable blue as the ocean of sorrows. Many of the wholesome bay windows were either closed or obscured by blinds while the sunshades hovered over them without even obscuring the viewing of the great outdoors from the inside point of view. The black driveway had an orange minivan sitting on the fertile foundation even though there was a garage that was absorbed by the home.

The light was merely but a simple element that mirrored the munificent clearness inside the simple room just a lot like the day in pale comparison to the day that had shine some light on it all; of course, it wasn't much of a good thing to begin the day with at all ever since moments earlier, especially inside the room which strangely looks a lot more where a little child with a high intelligence quotient would utilize while looking out for his older but dimwitted sister. There was a table that had been accommodated with typical everyday items such as a pair of stools, a Bunsen burner, flasks, beakers, test tubes, sets of yellow rubber gloves, pairs of goggles, and a microscope in a series of twos. A safety shower was also residing near the door(way) should some unfortunate soul be lathered in chomping substances that could devour almost anything that made any form of physical contact whatsoever, like termites to timber. Some fire extinguishers were also in the room but they had different colors: one a standard scarlet red and the other an experimental bright blue. Even so, textbooks and workbooks were sitting on a large table for people to carry on with their assignments so they can fill in every single blank that can be found in order to prepare themselves for the upcoming barrage of quizzes and tests, known or unknown from their instructors. Chemicals made a straight decent line like if they were paperback novels showing the titles by their side for everyone to read while being locked up in glass cabinets to ensure that only a key can disengage them before whatever these exciting experiment(ation)s could even begin. In addition, there was also a substantial (super)computer with a monitor that took up most of the entire wall as it was being operated by the two adolescent redheaded girls from earlier this morning; of course, one of them being Mary was putting into a lot of effort into such a task for someone like her.

As she started to exhale a breath of warm carbonated air in her direction, she'd started to turn away from the screen upfront when she heard the sound of the metal sliding away with a small whoosh, an indication that someone had just walked inside the room. It was the russet canine from earlier that fateful morning who'd traveled with the family to the sanatorium where Johnny was placed in; this time, the animal was seen walking on two feet instead of the standard four. Noticing a strained grimace in those teal irises, the pet started to asked one of the girls nervously with trepidation, "did you… find them yet…?!" "Whoever those bastards are, we've gotten a visual on them: they were last seen entering Elko County in Nevada!" Mary answered the russet canine too frustrated to face the last one; an image popped up much to the former's delight, "they won't be getting away with trying to kill our brother that easily, _especially not today_…!" "Wow… you seemed vicious on the whole 'especially not today' part, Mary…" the pet responded to the moony girl after hearing some vituperation escape from such a kind of tone within a person like herself. The other twin teenage girl, the starry one, faced the russet canine with a similar yet less ferocious look in her bright blue eyes and spoke, "well according to the news reports, the army has just supplied the neighboring Nevada Highway Patrol with their military grade hardware and the Sky Brigade is going to assist them in destroying the mercenaries…" "That's good but what seems to be wrong with that?" the pet spoke to the twin teenage girls up in front, lowering his fear with a sense of hopeful relief, "I mean, you said it yourself, Susan: they should be totally stopped anyway…" "Well, remembering the times where the government agent had been operating them in the past, it would be less of a surprise that these weapons used against them got destroyed; the least we can do is basically helping them along with their plans to stop them…" Mary said to the russet canine with a soft reassuring façade inside her timbre. Barely unfazed by the moony twin girl's answered and bewildered as well when she had turned her face back to the (super)computer's monitor, the bipedal companion asked quizzically, "how are you going to do that?" "Just leave everything to us, Dukey…" the starry sister, Susan said to the named russet canine as she shooed him away in a mere instant, "why don't you run along and go play with the other dogs…?"

It was clearly obvious enough to realize that out of all the times when trouble came and followed after as a result of the villainous misdeed, this was officially the one time where the two had literally wished that they could've stop them from going any further and hurting their brother; in short, they were just plain helpless. Their parents were never able to anticipate the mercenaries' actions at all, seeing that the latter group had endangered everyone unfortunate enough to be around them from the very. The other kids were far a tad bit luckier that the blond boy as their parental guardians became slightly aware of what was happening just moments before now, thanks to the mechanizations of those certain individuals who had preferred offense over oblivion.

* * *

Meanwhile, everything was only moments away from getting shot straight into the depths of Hell in a mere hot flash. All that the Chief could hear was his own heart beating against his ribcage as he squinted, trying to stare down the road not taken away from the blockade that was very well constructed. He couldn't even hear the sounds of the airstreams coming from all direction beside him, the cawing of the vultures that would circle around any organism that was fast approaching its doom, or even the louds roars of gunfire as he was starting to pay attention to the havoc upfront. Instead of all this ringing any bells, all that the man could hear was his heart beating in his head louder and louder by each second, sweat pouring down from his forehead as he stood there with one destination in mind whatsoever. He could feel the acute sting of the bullets flying through the air like missiles in the middle of a typical conflict amongst the warring states or rather a recreation of it instead: bombs were flying, brothers were dying, people were crying, and even politicians were lying; the only thing missing was the part where cities were exploding but that turned out to be not the case. He knew that not only they were hot on each other's heels like dogs to steak meat, he knew that this mustn't even last this much longer, let alone live that long; besides, if there was one truth that would prevail then it would be this: no one lives forever.

Here was this Chief, who wasn't supposed to be afraid of such imagery in real life, and somehow, the man in uniform was standing on endwise in front of his dependents as fate had been watching him risk life and limb altogether. The man could feel some traces of sand stinging his eyes and he squeezed them shut in an attempt to make them disappear from his presence; however, it would complicate the fact that trouble was overflowing with only death and destruction in its wake. They ran over the edge of forever and down to very his face, falling onto the desert landscape while the sound of gunfire now started to replace the sound of his own heartbeat. The Chief had refused to turn his eyes away and from the sight at the railways which he was standing at but he could hear it all in front of him; he knew that it had indicated something: the mercenaries were starting to get closer each and every second that had passed. Now that the die was cast at a roll that would burn down a bridge to the point of no return, the man had no choice but to stop them at once; soon, his eyes had widened open in time to see that a locomotive or two was moving slowly down towards him; it would be so close to them that he could see over a dozen men with the venom in their eyes that could kiss the former goodbye.

In a sense, today was different; it was like that the people racing down the track would stop at nothing this time to keep the other locomotive from gaining the lead and it wasn't enough that they had inadvertently made people suffer because of it. The only option that was left for him was to just stop them from taking more lives before things started to get much more worse than ever; normally when it came to fighting the likes of such notorious enemies, the former was used to the latter group being armed with handguns and rifle in their grasp just seconds before a team had put a stop to them. Regardless, only one thing was certain: the men in line of the Chief's vision were a threat to the security and safety of the public; they had attacked Porkbelly, inconsiderate of the innocent civilians that were in their way and there was no way that they could allow them to do any further damage given their reckless destruction here and there. Needless to say, even if there was a cowardly façade that the man had on him, it wouldn't even do forasmuch with a small band of gunmen being a few minutes away from where they're standing from.

"Sir…, the mercenaries are approaching us within range!" a voice had echoed belonging to his aide from behind him as the locomotives were starting to gain loose speed all at once. Their commanding officer had responded to the sight of them as a show of such resulting anticipation by pulling out his binoculars; when the glass circles was beginning to show where the attacking men were as of now he started to warn the people clearly, "they're coming in too hot; everyone, get into your position and prepare to open fire." Taking heed of the man's proclamation, an arrangement was organized by them as the crosshairs within their rifles were commencing to take aim at the mercenaries that were stationed at the railways.

Chaos was now ready to descend on each and every single corner of the desert around them like if it were an example of osmotic diffusion. A reign of fire and terror was seconds away from pouring down upon them like a set of raging rapids (but with molten lava instead of rushing water) as violent explosions (and partial nudity) had reduced many of all order and reason to rubble at once as it shook up the area behind the two trains. Pillars of smoke became so tall it was escaping from the wreckage and attempted to overcome the oxygenized ozone as if they had turned into anti-aircraft turrets with the intent to conquer the atmosphere above them. A notable stream of blood was trailing within them when some of the dead bodies lain everywhere as if they were making some kind of a trail for anyone to follow. All that could be heard now were the sounds of loud gunfire roaring fiercely like a battle between a tiger and a dragon while the acute sting of the bullets were flying through the air like missiles in the middle of a typical conflict amongst the warring states were also heard as well, skimping around between the foregrounds and backgrounds of life itself; after all, it did belong to the gunfighters fighting relentlessly as if it were a simple online team deathmatch that turned into a battle between good and evil being wage(re)d.

Now it was more than just a simpering shootout but rather a civil war between the patrollers of Nevada and the near score of ferocious legionnaires that were fighting against each other here and there with the very guns that dispersed (buck)shots at each other. Each and every time a bullet had been fired, it would either undergo three simple fates: meet up with the world of flesh head on and destroy it while possibly and potentially ending a life, strike a blunt object by accident and then ricochet at each angle until the inertia and energy within were lost upon stoppage, or pierce the air just like the ones that attempted to fulfill its purpose only to miss when irony came out to play with their minds. Either way, it was one of the typical examples of a matter known as life and death, the former being the one chance that each and (almost) every individual got before the latter served as their final destination, albeit serious and pugnacious. In fact, it was also another chapter in the lives of those whom swore to keep the peace and maintain order as well as in the lives of those who had stirred uproar and caused chaos; ergo, the fate of those unlucky to be around them when certain things had come up and happen rested in their own hands. Somehow and someway, there was some kind of (sick) feeling that this was another part of the plan that was moving forward to the next phase as if it had come from the demented mind of its enigmatic author.

Irregardless, time was steadily running out for that there were two kinds of feelings within their atmosphere: fear and forgetfulness of why they were all there. Why this hadn't been explained this sooner the men and women would never know for, when no more of their strength would be completely depreciated, they would have nothing at all to fight for and they all were doomed to depart from the other side of the living world forever [or at least 'til the end of (their) days]. Either way, an outcome was about to be reached at any moment from now shortly anyways and the fate of the country had now rested in everyone's hands and shoulders, in spite of allegiances to either law and order or chaos and discord within the country.

* * *

**Author's**** Note:** Well, there you have it; this was chapter eleven of PenGator3's "4Kids Does Team Fortress!" Before we go, we want to thank you all for tuning in on another episode of _"Elves Talking About People More Popular __Than__ You."_ We apologize for the technical difficulties earlier.

Smelfman (rubs his forehead in pain): Owww...!

Nancy (looks on into the camera ignoring it all smiling): Well, tune in next time for another exciting episode; 'til then, see ya...!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note:** Hello, this is PenGator3 with another chapter of 4Kids Does Team Fortress; just want to start off by suggesting that this new chapter will herald in the anniversary of the story's publishing. We thank you all for being patent and supporting us as throughout this entire duration of time with your reviews; we hope that by Chapter Twenty Four will be big and loud that it is but only in the event it becomes that way.

Sanzo: As if, you basically are the most laziest asshole who would ever care about it all!

Dominique (annoyed): Just please ignore him, and enjoy the story... or not; I don't care...

* * *

The golden sun had started to light up over the fair city of Porkbelly where its sunlight had soused every single urban establishment and resident, big or small, in a luminous wave of glistening shine and luster. Every single vehicles that was composed into all sorts of sizes, makes, and even models drove through (and around) every street, road, turnpike, avenue, even bridge, tunnel, highway, freeway, and even some went off road to their own destinations. A calm gentle breeze had then strolled through the municipality offering a sense of serenity to passers-by; in turn, many pedestrians (and bicyclists as well) were all aware that the breeze would keep many of them cool and unperturbed as most went to go on with their very lives. The winds had even titled the nearby forest back and forth peacefully (and carefully) while attempting to detach all the morning dew from the green greens on their heads; some of the leaves however, had simply fluttered up into the heavens. The enormous cerulean firmament was about to be shining bright like a diamond anyway within a scant few hours from now since that fateful day had already just began.

Now was the time those very readers had been directed to Johnny's room, except that he was already asleep; but, that did not mean that he was dead at all either. Apparently, it would seem that the young blond in question was still tired because of what had happened earlier today during a school trip with the mercenaries; perhaps, it was possible that it was so bad he could barely react. For some reason, its sensation was to be somewhat stronger than that but not strong enough to be considered lethal or maybe because he was still tired. Irregardless, Johnny was sleeping in heavenly peace due to the fact that nobody or better yet nothing at all was bothering him with the taboo noise of outsiders even as the complaint had already taken form. After all, it was the least that the young blond could do for himself in order to be rid of this; besides, it was not like he truly wanted to be killed by someone for whatever reason even though there wasn't. In short, he was just fine already since no harm ever came to him so far.

There was just one problem, though unfortunately: Johnny was starting to frisson and swelter in pain as his eyes tightly clenched while he'd grasp the comforter as if it were holding onto something for dear life; in other words, he was in some sort of a nightmare taking place in that bus from earlier this morning. Soon, the young blond started to see himself in a different set of clothing: a jet black t-shirt, a navy blue short sleeve jacket being worn over it, a pair of forest green cargo pants on his legs, some matching black sneakers on his own two feet, and a watch on his right arm; nevertheless, it was clearly obvious that this nightmare was more like somewhat of an evocation from the that time of day in question coming back to him in bits and pieces. Then, he saw the faces of other passengers besides himself, eyes making contact with the few of them as it was pumping the former full of energy on the account of going someplace on a yellow school bus. Next, Johnny saw the mercenaries rushing right pass them in their trains, attacking each other with reckless abandon all at once as they had fired their weapons out, not even caring about whatever rules that were set here and there while the screams of schoolchildren had filled the vivid air. Now, the young blond was starting to duck away after seeing them away considering the circumstances that were currently far from being normal enough to be easily tolerable before he started to feel a searing pain in his left arm sword and at least try to push them back. Finally, when the pandemonium had finally subsided at once, an oozing liquid from his left arm had started to bleed out the very life force outside of him very slowly until…

"GAH, the heck?" those cerulean eyes finally opened up as Johnny winced in pain; glancing around, he had realized that this was in a hospital room he had been sleeping in and stared at his arms to find that the wound on his left arm from earlier was being healed but his watch was not there on his right arm before he laid back down and clutched his pillow, "oh, my head." His vision started to become more blurry and distorted than before, proof that the young blond had begun experiencing one of those dizzy spells that had made him disoriented and confused for a while to see clearly. After a scant few minutes, he had quickly slipped himself into slumber back once more.

* * *

Meanwhile, back somewhere out there in the eastern seaboard the same azure wholesome skies and its puffy white clouds had set the atmosphere in play as it had been circling the world's hemisphere with the golden yellow sun already risen up to start the day. The breeze had been so gentle those trees were once titled back and forth peacefully (and carefully), some of them didn't move at all. Even so, the birds of all varying sizes and shades had been singing an ode to the sky in a twittering set of chirps, soaring alongside the peaceful airstreams like the cheerful dolphins out onto the ocean. The beautiful elite had sprouted up from beneath the soil and kissed the fertile jade greensward all while dancing around and about in its place. A few automobiles of all shapes, sizes, makes, and even models were rarely seen driving through (and around) every street, road, turnpike, avenue, even bridge, tunnel, highway, freeway, and even some went off road. People had already left home at once in this time of day: most of whom had spouses and/or posterity they had encountered before getting to work, some went to serve on the stand where the paragon of law and order had been built, a few had been trying to get out of it on their way of thinking, and there were even others driving off to get daylight provisions.

Of course, Dominique was found inside the lavatory within the house he and Sanzo resided in, about half the size of the kitchen(ette); generally, the room was a lot of the same as the average restroom. The spacious flooring was composed of merely equilateral ceramic tiles on the solid ground instead of the ligneous parquet that was easily found throughout almost the entire domicile. The narrow walls were already painted in a colorless white, the same color that had also represented the nothingness inside itself; then again, it was rather ironic at least nevertheless however though. The air was clear and colorless as it always was since the dawn of time and now it was filled with the great inadequacy of such strong emotions concerning yesterday and today. Unlike the bedroom however, there was only but one window that had beams of sunlight peering all the way through the looking glass as it had offer lighting; but, the main source of light above it was there in active service. There was actually a large solid glass in the form of a mirror and it was basically achromatic like the shower curtain and the sink as well, suitable to the attribute of water itself. The bathroom was accommodated with typical things including a toilet, a sink, a hamper, a closet where towels and washcloth had been stored, and best of all a bathtub with a shower head and a curtain rack to go with it.

Most importantly, the orange penguin was there already and he was on the lavatory. He had already positioned his posterior somewhat about at the right angle and successfully planted it over the downed seat so he can go do his business in the bathroom peacefully, pinching a loaf at every chance that was given to that very same manipulator right every now and then. It was very simple to be au fait with: either that everybody poops or nobody poops (but you); nevertheless, Dominique was like a naughty child and that was concentrated evil coming out the back of him each second it had passed him by as pieces of waste (or two) came out and slid right into the water. Despite the unpleasant scent and sight of it the porcelain throne he sat on was capable of handling whatever had been consumed and expelled, holding it all in 'til it was finished. The orange penguin reached for some toilet paper and rolled those sheets together before it ran up in between his thighs and slowly; before long, his fundament was all clean and the soiled toilet paper sheets slid out into the water. Finished for so long, he had gotten up and flushed the toilet; a gurgling swirl was instantly heard after jumping off the bowl and onto the floor with a squeaky clop as the waste had gone the drain without a hitch.

Dominique then went to sink to wash his hands after taking care of some business a few minutes earlier as he had climbed the stepladder up to get to the top. Taking knowledge of the mixer tap's twin handles, the orange penguin had placed his hand on the one with the reddish orange ring around it; before long, water shot out of its nozzle and onto the operator's hands, bringing a (more or less) lukewarm but comfortable feeling. Then, he had placed one of his two very hands onto a bar of soap only to feel a squishy texture from it all; soon, he lathered and rubbed both his hands together for at least twenty seconds which was sixty times quicker than the time on the toilet, washing well between his feathery tips with precision. The moment those very hands were completely covered in foam the water was fixed onto them again, this time rinsing Dominique's hands around as the suds slithered down away from them and down into the drain. The orange penguin had stretched his hands out over a towel cloth nearby a wooden balustrade; using it, he had been able to dry his hands completely. Finally, he had turned off the faucet with the same hands from before, jumped back onto the floor with another squeaky clop, and left the lavatory.

On the way there, Dominique had returned to the bedroom in little time in all and found Sanzo there on the computer already typing words down on the active monitor. "Have you heard the news already?" the blond man had asked the orange penguin without the former bothering to turn around and face the latter. As Dominique had quickly jumped up the paillasse, he had answered Sanzo quickly, "No, I was in the fucking bathroom just earlier; why would you be asking me such a question like that?" "That's why…!" the blond then instantly turned around to face the orange penguin with a fierce grimace calmly as a remote was aimed at the television screen nearby; a button was pressed as the machine splotched to life while the owner said, "just watch the news and you'll see what I'm talking about." "Fine then…!" Dominique sat down on the bed with an exasperated look as Hank Anchorman's face had appeared on screen.

Not much has changed of the newscaster in question ever since the orange penguin had seen him not too long or far away ago; however, given the previous encounter, not much was expected anyway when the male human had started to speak up, "good afternoon; this is Hank Anchorman speaking. Officials have now confirmed that the Sky Brigade is joining forces with the Nevada Highway Patrol on stopping the rogue mercenaries from continuing their onslaught across the rest of America throughout. One of their commanders, Air Marshall Vidan had said in a press conference that 'domestic terrorism has, up 'til now resided in mail fraud schemes and concentrated municipal bombings of the past; now, it has struck once again in America this time, en masse by attacking our posterity with no regard of their safety whatsoever.' Of course, this is perhaps an otherwise surprising thought given in the wake of Osama bin Laden's death at the hands of a covert operations unit less than a month ago. Nevertheless, we go live in the sky with our correspondent Jeffrey Cramer on the coverage of the assault; how's it going up there Jeff?"

Another male humanly figure had just popped up onscreen and he was also a white man as well just like Hank Anchorman and the speaker from long ago, albeit with a fair share of physical differences. First off, he had a tanned skin tone that was as dark as an orange peel, a blatantly stark contrast to the skin tones of the many men and women from long before that they had shared. Secondly, the man named Jeff had blue eyes that were matching the suit, the same kind that had belonged to Hank; unlike the latter, the former had a tie that was green as a freshly cut yard from an organized homeowner that was looking at it like a job well done. Unlike the speaker, though, he did have some hair and it was blond, just like Johnny, his father, and Sanzo too as well; however, it was flatly devoid of spiky twangs yet it did possess bleached shading. A pair of safety glasses was placed over those very eyes of his so as if he could protect them from whatever came their way; of course, given the situation that Jeff was in, it is perhaps easily understandable at best.

"Not good at all, Hank!" the suntanned man had answered the newscaster as the background was revealed to be the cockpit of a helicopter, "we're coming to you live aboard Chopper One high over Elko County, Nevada. KLAS–TV is exclusively covering the news today in spite of the recently instated martial law throughout all of Nevada; what in the world is happening here in Elko County? What you are seeing here is fire caused by tank cannons obscuring the railroad tracks; but the real question is this: who are those men out there fighting against the heavily armed Highway Patrol?! I wish I can tell you more but I'm afraid that we have been ordered to land; I'm afraid that the Sky Brigade has ordered us to land! Now what is at stake here is the social order of all of the Western United States; I repeat: the Sky Brigade has ordered us to land–––"

A significant whiteout of countless snowfall had appeared in place of Jeff's face as the erratic reverberations of static were heard throughout the room; thankfully, the image had cut back to a clear picture of Hank once again. "Well that totally sucked ass; I was hoping for a kick ass gun battle onscreen, not him again," Dominique creaked in mild aggravation as he started to stand up and move away from the vicinity of the television screen. Sanzo got up from his seat and tossed the remote over to the orange penguin before saying, "I'm going to get outside so I can buy some groceries for the house so whatever happens, you mustn't leave the house at all under any circumstances; I don't want whatever happened to Chef Kaki to reoccur again, especially considering what your friends have done to him of course." "Oh, come on already; you're still pissed about what I did to that douchebag of a chef?!" Dominique screamed at the blond owner before slapping his own forehead quickly, "he'd got what was coming to him after he tried to feed us those shitty 'thinwiches' of his thanks to that cheapskate of a king!" "It doesn't matter what he did but what does matter is that you would have been easily put down for doing that!" Sanzo responded with equal mayhem as he started to get a gray jacket within the vicinity of the doorway. The orange penguin turned to face the television screen with a remote in his possession and shot back, "that only happens to rabid dogs that run around and fuck everything up not penguins with a grudge against pathetic chefs like him…!" Sanzo shouted back at Dominique as the former wore the ashen jacket and left the room instantaneously at once, "I don't need to stay here and argue with you on the TV, alright?" "The hell with him…!" the orange penguin spoke to himself in an annoyed grunt as he quickly heard the door being slammed shut a few feet away from the room, no doubt the work of his owner; afterwards, the former turned to the TV screen and started pressing buttons on the remote to find something that he would consider good to watch.

* * *

Everything had now transitioned upward to a different place already separated by such [a (long)] distance which was at least about a hundred of miles away from where the duo were on; yet, it was still on the eastern seaboard. The golden sun that was already far from the tallest point in the big blue sky now had become free of the white puffy clouds that had briefly obscured it all earlier, letting off its (high) yellow glow as signified that it was now a high noon at the Big Apple that was better known as the place called New York City. The (en)harmonic honking and beeping of the constant traffic jam that resided in between the foreground and the background of this big city was now fading away, the sure sign that rush hour was over already; automobiles of all sizes, makes, and even models that were once at a greater disadvantage on the (super)highways, freeways, throughways, expressways, and even the interstates regardless of direction whatsoever were flowing vacantly. The people that had gone to dine on their break, however and wherever they chose to do it as they please, had now went back to work again; in addition, the folks who worked around or at their own homes along with the some who were unemployed that had sat down to relax had resumed with their lives as well.

Unfortunately, there was however one tall building that had stood out amongst all the other ones within the heart of New York City: it was none other than 4Kids itself; as a result, all was still not completely well. Inside the penthouse was Alfred R. Khan, the only occupant inside still living and breathing up to this very day as the current situation at hand with the old time, space, dimension, imagination, place, and setting whatnot fell into his favor; apparently, he was used to it because it truly gave him some precious time plentifully to observe and report whatever was going on around with the company. Needless to say, it had been far from an eventful yesterday considering the certain changes going on here with his underling being in a current situation here that is currently taking place whatsoever involving 4Kids and their leader watching, waiting, and plotting their next move for things to come (and go). The (over)heavy gentleman was currently drinking juice looking over the internet that had been hosting about many topics quite much before and after what could have been seen as rotten timing for many under normal circumstances concerning the situation at hand somehow; yet, it was good timing because that they were a part of it.

Now it seems that Alfred was still on the internet site looking at PenGator3's profile up on and had found some new stories as well; they were including but not limited to: 'Yangnesia', 'No Love', and 'Regular Show: Know Your Stars' as well. Observing the first of the two new stories and what their summaries had been about, he had grumbled to himself in such great displeasure, "this guy's still a 'Ying Yan You' freak; no wonder they hate him so much…" "Excuse me, sir…!" a female's voice had popped up, causing (over)heavy gentleman to take his sights off the computer and to the direct of the voice; it was Rainbow Smiley who said, "we have the new slogans ready for your approval." "Okay, I'm ready to see them now…" Alfred had said in agreement as a button was instantly pressed. Soon an energetic voice was heard and words had popped up on the television screen saying "4Kids TV: Your Neighborhood Game Station!" "Hmm… doesn't sound good enough…" he said in typical ennui as he had press another button to make the words disappear, "let's see what else is on." "4Kids TV: Where Children Have Something Better To Watch!" the same energetic voice was heard again has those words popped up on screen. The (over)heavy gentleman pondered for a moment on that slogan 'til he had pressed yet another button that made them fade out to oblivion saying, "close but still not good enough…" "4Kids TV…" the same energetic voice started up before changing its tone to a serious one, "The Last Place for Adults to Watch!" "Hold that thought…" were the words that Alfred said as he got up from his seat and left the room; afterwards, the businesswoman was left standing dazed and confused by her employer's decision.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that was weak!

Dominique: At least we had made the quota this time, unlike all the others; now, I can go back to writing "Re: Yin Yang Who?" already.

Sanzo: Whatever, just don't mess it up for them, alright? Many of those people are basically grow impatient as of now...

Dominique: Fine then... **Please Read And Review!**


End file.
